


step on up

by Chierei



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Clubbing, Consent is Sexy, Dom/sub, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Romance, Rough Sex, Some Plot Snuck into my Porn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-04-11 10:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: “AMF?” Ed finally managed to say, before wanting to slap himself at the idiotic attempt at an introduction.The man grinned, toothy and sly. “Adios Motherfucker! A-M-F!”(In which Ed meets Oswald under very different circumstances. Or the one-night-stand-clubbing-hookup-to-dating AU you never wanted with bonus porn.)





	1. Edward - Friday

#

Ed didn’t know what he was doing here.

 

Well, he did know what he was doing here but he didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to be doing. Going out to...clubs was a thing he was supposed to enjoy, right? Which is why when his newest colleagues at the GCPD had invited him along at the end of his first week, he had accepted, eager to partake in what he knew was acceptable social bonding.

 

He just hadn’t expected it to be so...loud. The colors, the music, the talking—it was overwhelming.

 

Ed had consented to wear his contacts for the night, having been informed that glasses were not an appropriate form of attire at such a venue. However, he felt distinctively out of place in his starched white button-up, decorated with minuscule dark green dots that was tucked into a pair of perfectly pressed black dress pants. He had, after research, forgone the tie but buttoned the dress shirt up to his neck, uncomfortable without the usual pressure of a tie.

 

His new colleagues had abandoned him, intentionally or unintentionally he did not know, within the hour, leaving him with a plastic cup filled with melting ice and what Ed presumed was cheap rum and cola. He had wrinkled his nose at the taste but cradled it in his hands, a mix of politeness and awkwardness.

 

Now Ed found himself leaning against the bar, cupping a now-warm drink and at a lost. The music was pounding between his ears, making it hard to think, the heavy bass vibrating the dance floor that was filled with stumbling bodies. The dance floor was dim, lit only by the strobing lights, and filled with an unrecognizable mass of men and women. Unfamiliar song after song filtered through the speakers, some sending up cheers and synchronized dance moves as though they were a secret code that Ed has never managed to learn.

 

Ed had been considering his next move when he was jostled, being pushed abruptly against the bar and splashing a portion of his half-full drink onto his sleeve. Out of instinct, Ed automatically shook his hand to fling off the excess, sticky liquid as he was already reaching to grab from the stack of bar napkins that were just within reach.

 

“Oh, sorry!” a voice yelled, leaning close to Ed’s ear as he tried to be heard over over the music. A pale hand reaches over to help mop up the mess, the dark metal of a multitude of rings catching and bumping against Ed’s own fingers. It was only when they had managed to pile a stack of sticky and wet paper napkins into the corner that Ede finally took a look at his clumsy companion.

 

The man was easily a head shorter than Ed, with messy black hair that looked as if a hand had been combed through it several times, and wrapped in a black V-neck shirt that showed off his collarbone. The newcomer had a lazy, tipsy smile as he leaned against Ed, the alcohol likely dulling any inhibitions of personal space. “I’m so, so sorry about your drink,” he said, voice steady despite the smell of alcohol on his breath. “Let me buy you a new one.”

 

Ed was already halfway through trying to turn down the offer when the other man muscles his way to the bar, pushing his shoulder in between Ed and the neighboring group to flash a credit card between two fingers as he waited for the bartender to take notice.

 

“What are you drinking? No, wait, let me guess.”

 

Ed stood there, at loss for words at the admittedly attractive man ordered. “Two AMFs and two Red Headed Sluts,” the stranger yelled, leaning over the bar as far as he could to the bartender. He seemed to automatically use the footrest under the bar for an extra few inches of height, folding himself over the counter in a practiced move.

 

Ed was at a loss when the man finally turned back with a grin, allowing him to take in his features. The dim lighting cast a shadow over pale skin, and Ed could barely make out aristocratic features, a pointed nose, and smudged eye make-up.

 

“AMF?” Ed finally managed to say, before wanting to slap himself at the idiotic attempt at an introduction.

 

The man grinned wider, toothy and sly. “Adios Motherfucker! A-M-F!”

 

Ed matched his grin, unsure of what else to say.

 

“So what’s your name?” the stranger asked when the bartender put two drinks on the counter in an alarmingly radioactive shade of blue, followed by two plastic shot glasses of dark red liquid. He handed over his credit card, making a sharp motion with one hand once the bartender took it. “Close it out,” he yelled, before finally turning back to Ed, sliding one drink and one shot glass over.

 

“Edward. Nygma.”

 

“Well, cheers, Edward Nygma.” He emphasized the syllables as Ed had, teasing, and Ed wanted to blush at the way his tongue peeked out from behind his teeth as he clicked his tongue at the way he said his last name.

 

He pressed the shot into Ed’s hand before raising his own. Ed scrambled for a second before he mirrored the motion, bumping the plastic cups together and bracing himself for the bitter, unpleasant burn.

 

Instead, he was surprised by the sweet, fruity taste of the drink, complemented by the slight herbal aftertaste. His surprise must have been apparent because his companion laughed.

 

“I thought you’d like that. I’m Oswald.” They shook hands quickly, an oddly polite gesture for such a setting, before Oswald’s attention was diverted momentarily as the bartender returned with a receipt, just long enough for him to scribble an illegible signature and to throw a few crumpled dollar bills down as a tip.

 

Ed took a cautious sip of the blue monstrosity of a drink while he watched. The drink, the AMF, was nothing like the dismal rum and coke, sweet and sour and barely any of the rough burn of liquor. It suited Ed, and he had downed half of the drink before he noticed.

 

Oswald was fascinating, leaning close to Ed as they attempted conversation over the din, taking sips of their drinks in between words. They were shuffled closer together as new people pushed and shoved their way to the bar for drinks, and Oswald leaned up on his toes, sometimes grabbing the edge of the bar and using the footrest to pull himself up to speak in Ed’s ear.

 

It was strangely intimate for such a setting, their faces pulled together and lips close to their ears out of necessity. Ed learned that Oswald was born and raised in Gotham, that he worked at a club on the other side of town that Ed didn’t recognize, and that he had come with a friend who had since disappeared into the crowd. In turn, Edward mentioned that he has only just moved to Gotham, that he was only just settling into his industrial loft, and that he hated onions.

 

At one point, Ed has managed to snag a barstool for the shorter man, the unfamiliar fog of alcohol making him daring as he bodily lifted the other into the seat to the delighted squeal of the other. Oswald’s smile was wide and infectious as they talked and flirted. Somehow, Ed’s arm found its way in the back of the barstool to press his forearm against Oswald’s back and Oswald’s knee kept brushing Ed’s thigh.

 

Ed bought the next round of drinks—two tang bangs, at Oswald’s direction—both of them giggling as Oswald instructed Ed on how to take the drop shot.

 

Ed didn’t know the last time he had this much fun, wiping the spilled excess orange juice from his chin as he handed Oswald a napkin to do the same.

 

“Do you want to dance?” Oswald finally suggested, leaning in.

 

Ed has barely nodded before Oswald jumped off the barstool, pulling Ed by the hand into the crowd of grinding strangers just as the song changes into a deep, heavy rhythm. Ed, buzzed on more than just alcohol, followed.

 

The ground was sticky with overturned drinks, and the heat of the moving bodies was already getting to Ed. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he pushed his way through the crowd.

 

Oswald finally stopped in the center of the dance floor, the location meeting some unknown criteria for him to swing around to press himself chest to chest with Ed. Without preamble, Oswald slipped both arms around Ed’s neck, pulling Ed closer. Unsure of what else to do, Ed put his hands in Oswald’s hips, feeling them roll side to side in time with the music.

 

Oswald laughed, and Ed felt captivated by his smile, in how his head was thrown back with his eyes closed as he enjoyed the music. His bangs were slick with sweat, clinging to his forehead and the back of his neck, and Ed wanted to lick a stripe along his collarbone, wanted to taste the salt of his skin, and mark that smooth unblemished neck with bites.

 

Ed didn’t know the words to the song, but evidently, everyone else did. Oswald jumped in time with the beat, one hand leaning his neck to wave it up in the air with the crowd at a particular lyric. Ed found it almost impossibly endearing.

 

Oswald calmed down again as the song came to a close, choosing to press himself to Ed, his face in Ed’s neck as they danced in time with the heavy beat. Ed has never been much of a dancer, and he felt ungainly in the crowd but Oswald didn’t seem to care, simply enjoying the rub of their chest together and the occasional, heart-stopping moments when their groin met and Ed’s burgeoning erection felt a few seconds of glorious friction.

 

Abruptly, Oswald turned around, grabbing Ed’s hands to rest them low on his hips while pressing his back against Ed’s chest. More importantly, it pressed his backside, accented by the tight pair of dark jeans, directly against Ed’s crotch.

 

Ed flushed heavily as Oswald ground himself against Ed, undoubtedly feeling his erection that strained almost painfully now against the hard zipper of his pants. Instead of being disgusted, Oswald shot a look up and over his shoulder and smiled devilishly as he kept his hands over Ed’s, pushing them to drift lower until they rested on his upper thighs.

 

Ed groaned quietly in Oswald’s hair as he swayed them back and forth, taking in the pure sensation of friction and the smell of Oswald’s hair—lavender and salt. Feeling suddenly bold, he dipped his head to give in to the urge to taste Oswald. He started with a light press of his lips against the sweaty neck, barely even a kiss, just the brushing of chapped lips against skin. Not being pushed away, he opened his mouth to nip at the flesh, swirling the tip of his tongue against the skin and groaning when Oswald pressed himself closer to Ed, one hand going up to tangle in Ed’s hair and press his face further into his neck, an unmistakable invitation for more.

 

Feeling emboldened, Ed bit down, just hard enough to be felt before licking gently at the spot, as though in apology. He didn’t know what was coming over him, but between the alcohol, and heavy bass, and the gorgeous and willing body in his arm, Ed felt alive. The part of him that had always wanted to take, wanted to feel strong and in control was coming to the surface and it felt _good_.

 

They continued to grind to the music, Ed’s grip on Oswald’s thighs turning into teasing massages to the area. He enjoyed trailing his hand close to the prize where he knew he’d find a hard cock under those jeans but then edging his fingers around the target just to hear the whine, the almost begging voiceless plead, from the smaller man’s mouth.

 

Oswald, taking enough of the teasing, finally dropped his hand from Ed’s hair and slipped it between their bodies, boldly groping at the hard line of Ed’s cock as he pressed his palm against it. Ed could sense more than see the grin on the man’s face as he felt the small fingers wrap around the clothed erection, squeezing.

 

Ed growled, primal into Oswald’s ear and bit down in punishment, sucking a dark hickey into his neck. He grabbed Oswald by the wrist, forcing his hand away and twisting it to his lower back in a move he had learned long ago. His free hand was laced into Ed’s in a vice-like grip, and he squeezed the fingers hard enough to leave bruises.

 

“Bad boy,” he growled into Oswald’s ear, enjoying the shiver that ran through the other man. In retaliation, he reached down and grabbed Oswald’s own hard cock, enjoying the little moan and the bit lip as Oswald looked up at him from under smoky long lashes.

 

And then Oswald turned and pulled Ed down for a wet, messy kiss.

 

Oswald tasted like oranges and cigarettes, the sharp tang of nicotine noticeable in the man's mouth. It wasn’t Ed’s first kiss— _that_ honor went to Lisa Flores in the 10th grade who has kissed him on a dare—or second kiss—Alison Bryant, 12th grade, homecoming before she slapped him and called him a creep—or even third—Nathan Nguyen, junior year of college and, very briefly, his psychology TA before he threatened Ed with a restraining order—but it was undoubtedly the hottest.

 

Oswald was bold, pushing himself against Ed with abandon and licking the inside of his mouth as though searching for treasure. The sound of the music faded into the background as they kissed, Ed’s nose bumping into Oswald’s cheek as they tilted their head to get a better angle.

 

They parted for just enough time for Oswald to grab Ed’s hand and pull him out of the dance floor, like a dog on a leash, to a less crowded alcove. Oswald barely made it before Ed spun him around, backing him up until his back hit the wall and leaned back down to kiss him again, his knee between the other man's legs and a deep purr in his throat. Kissing Oswald was addicting, and Ed preened each time he managed to elicit a sound or squirm out of the other man.

 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Oswald said, voice hoarse when they managed to separate again to breathe.

 

Ed kissed him again, dark and filthy, instead of answering.

 

* * *

 

 

Ed had no idea how they managed to make it to his apartment in a single piece. The taxi ride is a blur of hands and tongues, and he only vaguely remembered to throw enough cash at the driver to compensate her for the unwitting show.

 

The alcohol had burned its way through his system already, so he has no excuse for how he forces Oswald against the door of his apartment, grinding against the man when he tried to “help” Ed find his keys in his pocket.

 

The moment he slid the door open, he tugged a giggling Oswald after him, barely remember to close the door behind him. Ed had never been so thankful that his bed was immediately next to the door when he sees Oswald take an immediate seat on the edge. The neon green light washes over the man from the windows, casting an ethereal glow and leaving Ed’s mouth dry.

 

Ed switched on the lamp, letting the warm light flood the space and taking a long look at the other man for the first time in the evening. His eyes traced the shape of his nose and mouth, noticing his startling eyes, ice blue and endless, for the first time.

 

The next kiss was incongruously gentle as Ed crawled in Oswald’s lap, pushing him onto his back. The soft kiss turned frantic quickly, Oswald’s hands grabbing Ed’s ass to force together their groins.

 

They stopped long enough to remove their shoes and for Oswald to shuffle himself back to sit more fully on the bed. He stripped his shirt off in a single movement, throwing it carelessly to the side to expose the expanse of new skin.

 

Ed wasted no time, sucking at the man’s tongue as he allowed his hands to wander over the newly exposed chest. He trailed a hand down his collarbone, mapping out the crevices, stopping as he reaches the man’s nipples. He toyed with one, curious.

 

Oswald didn’t make any noise to indicate pleasure or displeasure as Ed thumbed the hard nub, so Ed abandoned that path to simply palm his way down his flat stomach, tracing the edges of his ribs that were exposed.

 

He barely noticed Oswald working on the buttons of his own shirt until he’d pushed the starched fabric off Ed’s shoulders, latching onto the junction of his neck and shoulder with an eager mouth while he freely explored Ed’s back and chest with both hands.

 

Ed helped him remove the rest, sitting on Oswald’s hips with his carefully gelled hair now messy and dropping in front of his eyes. Oswald’s pupils were blown wide as he scraped his fingernails up and down Ed’s chest, leaving small red trails of scratches.

 

“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” Oswald said, surging up to kiss him again.

 

Ed didn’t know the feeling that bloomed in his chest at the compliment. He had never been insecure about his looks, recognizing some of the appreciative glances that he had received over the years. Exercise was simply part of a normal, healthy lifestyle, and Ed has perfected the exact amount of time needed to maintain the average physique suited to his lifestyle.

 

But no one has ever called him _hot_.

 

Ed felt Oswald’s hands at his waistband, hurriedly undoing his belt and unzipping his pants just enough to slither a hand in. Ed groaned into Oswald’s mouth when Oswald gripped his hard cock over his briefs, the organ sensitive after all of the build-up. Ed recognized the grin in the kiss from Oswald and the mischievous laugh as he squeezed Ed before pumping him once, twice.

 

Oswald snuck his fingers in between the folds of his briefs, and Ed almost came at the touch of bare fingers against his cock. It has been years since something other than his own hand had touched him and Oswald was torturing him, light ghosts of touches followed by rough twists of his wrist around the head of his cock.

 

Ed growled as he pulled away from Oswald.

 

Oswald was smiling, a face of innocence. “Problem?” he asked glibly.

 

Ed wasted no time divesting the other man of his jeans, sliding his briefs off with them in a single movement to leave the man naked.

 

It was jarring to see Oswald, a man that Ed barely knew, pale and hard and naked and beautiful, in his bed against the aged patchwork quilt and exposed brick walls. Oswald simply smiled though, no pretense of being coy anymore with one hand behind his head as the other stroked himself idly, enjoying being watched.

 

Ed wanted to wipe that smile off his face, the emerging hunter in him wanting to ruin, _wreck_ , the other man. He stole another rough kiss as he laid himself on top of Oswald and then he replaced Oswald’s hand on his cock with his own, pumping him up and down until Oswald shivered and mewled.

 

Ed barely remembered to divest himself of his own pants before he scooted down the bed and, giving Oswald a quick glance and then sharing his own dark smile, swallowed down the other man’s cock.

 

Oswald cried out in surprise, his hips jerking up into Ed’s mouth. Ed choked for a second before he had the mind to press one hand against the man's hip to keep him still. Ed groaned as he felt Oswald set one hand on his head, wrapping fingers around the longer locks and pulling, gently, eagerly.

 

Ed had never given a blowjob before, but he had an eidetic memory, a strong knowledge of anatomy, and a large amount of enthusiasm. Oswald was of average size for a male of his stature, and Ed had no problems controlling his gag reflex to swallow him to the root before swirling his tongue as he bobbed his head back up. He tasted the salty pre-come, pressing his tongue against the spongy head of Oswald’s dick as he lapped at the slit.

 

“Fuck,” Oswald said, hoarse and wanting as he moved his leg to drape over Ed’s shoulder as Ed continued to bob his head back down and up again.

 

One of Ed’s hands toyed with his balls lightly, stroking them in time with his sucks, while keeping his eyes on Oswald as best he can. He experimented, stroking the base with one hand or sucking at the tip lewdly, enjoying the reactions of the other man who was laid out before him like a sacrifice. He carefully scraped his teeth along the top of Oswald’s cock, loving the mess of sounds the other man was making before he slowly allowed a finger to make its way back to Oswald’s puckered hole.

 

He pressed the pad of one finger gently against his hole, just the lightest of pressure and Oswald spread his legs in response, throwing his head back in invitation.

 

Ed finally pulled his mouth off the cock, lips red and wet and desperate to devour Oswald’s mouth. “Can I fuck you?” he asked breathlessly, voice gravelly and foreign to his own ears. He hadn’t ever thought that this was how he would lose his virginity, with a stranger in a strange town, but now that he had met Oswald, tasted him, he could think of nothing he wanted more.

 

Oswald was panting and nodded in response, trying to catch his breath. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck me, I want you to fuck me. There’s a, a, uh, condom in, in my wallet.” He raised a hand to wave in it in what Ed assumed was the direction of his pants, while the other went up to his forehead as he struggled to form any more words.

 

Ed scrambled off the bed, digging out the aforementioned wallet from the back pocket. A string of two condoms was tucked in with the bills, and Ed tossed them on the bed before he dug in his own drawer for the small bottle of lube he kept tucked behind his socks.

 

He looked back up to see that Oswald has composed him and was watching him was a lazy half-lidded expression of lust as his eyes openly wandered up to Ed’s face and then down to his hard cock, licking his lips theatrically.

 

Ed couldn’t stop himself from taking a kiss, tracing bruised lips with the tip of his tongue. “Hands and knees,” he ordered, voice rough.

 

Oswald obeyed, propping his knees open as he turned and grabbing a pillow to place under his chest as he presented himself.

 

Ed had to hold his breath at the sight, Oswald’s ass in the air as his chest and face was pressed down into the bed and pillow. He could see the smirk on Oswald’s face when he turned his head to the side to look back at Ed’s dumbfounded expression. The cheeky brat knew what he was doing to Ed, especially as he gave his ass a little enticing wiggle of invitation.

 

Feeling reckless and high, Ed slapped one cheek in punishment, enjoying the startled moan that came from Oswald in response.

 

Ed flipped open the bottle of lube, upturning it to allow a drizzle to fall straight down onto the crack of Oswald’s ass. The smaller man gasped at the cold touch, and Ed just let another thin trickle fall directly onto the dark pucker, trying to not make a mess.

 

He recapped the bottle before setting it aside within reach. He used one hand to spread Oswald’s cheek as the other went to press the tip of his index finger against the tight ring of muscles. He watched the dark hole flex in response, and he teased the edges again, light points of pressure to drive someone mad.

 

Just when he felt Oswald getting impatient, he thrust the finger into the first joint, the sudden sensation making Oswald emit a sound that was a cross between a moan and a squeal. Ed worked the one finger in easily to the knuckle before he slipped a second finger in. keeping Oswald’s hips steady with his other hand.

 

Ed twisted his wrist, pressing down toward Oswald’s front as he searched for the man’s prostate. He found the small gland with little trouble, putting a moment of pressure against it before releasing.

 

Oswald whimpered, pushing his ass back to try and chase Ed’s fingers. Ed kept Oswald in place with a hard squeeze to his hip, slipping his fingers back in and crooking his fingers to stimulate the gland again. There was a heady power to this control, to reduce a man to a wreck with just his fingers.

 

Ed wanted to own this man, wanted to see him beg and know who was making him like this. He hastily removed his fingers, ignoring Oswald’s whine of frustration, to rip open one of the condoms. He rolled the pre-lubricated condom down his own cock, the tight squeeze of the band making him moan. He wrapped a hand around the base of his own cock, the pressure staving off a potential orgasm.

 

“You ready?” Ed asked as he placed a hand on Oswald’s hip, voice soft and hesitant despite the raging ache of an erection. Ed wanted this, he wanted this so badly but if Oswald wanted to stop, Ed wouldn’t hesitate to back off.

 

Instead, Oswald pushed his ass back to feel the side of Ed’s cock rest against his cheeks. “Yeah. Fuck me, Ed,” he demanded.

 

Ed pressed the tip of his cock against Oswald’s hole, still wet and shiny with lubricant. Scientifically, he knew that the human body could stretch to extremes, but the primal part of his hindbrain was focused on wrecking that pretty little hole. He pushed against the natural resistance, finally feeling Oswald body give and accept the head of his cock.

 

Oswald groaned, his breathing heavy and measured as he adjusted to the intrusion.

 

Ed wanted to push all the way in but mindful, he carefully rocked back and forth, slow and shallow, until Oswald make the move to push himself back to accept more of Ed into his body.

 

They started a push and pull rhythm, Ed’s pushing in and out in small motions that Oswald would match until Ed’s pelvis hit Oswald’s soft backside.

 

Ed bent over Oswald, resting his head between Oswald’s shoulder blades as he tried to process the sensation of the tight heat that gripped his cock.

 

Oswald, the troublesome minx, tensed his muscles in response, causing him to tighten his grip around Ed’s cock.

 

Ed could feel Oswald’s shoulder shake in laughter, and he gave him a playful spank in punishment. “Bad boy,” he said for the second time of the night, trying for a growl but instead coming out as a winded plea.

 

Oswald didn’t answer, just rocked his hips again to fucking himself shallowly on Ed.

 

Ed lost control. He pushed himself back so his eyes could be fixed on the place where they were joined. Oswald was obscenely stretched on his dick, the sight hot and dirty. Ed pulled completely out, watching as Oswald’s hole gaped and flexed at the sudden loss, before thrusting back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

 

Oswald screamed, low and heady, and Ed worried that he has hurt him before he recognized the noise as one of pleasure.

 

Ed thrust back in, feeling the strain of his muscles as he fucked Oswald at an increasingly rough and fast pace. Oswald met him thrust for thrust, a litany of filth falling from his mouth that was only partially obscured by the pillow that he pressed against his face.

 

“Fuck. Yeah. That’s it, Ed. Fuck me, fuck my ass. Fuck yes. Fuck-fuck-fuck.”

 

Ed could feel his orgasm coming, the tightness in his balls familiar. He sped up his pace, his muscles screaming for a rest, but he was too focused on chasing his orgasm, on the feeling of heat around his cock, and the sound of Oswald’s yes-yes-fuck-ed-yes.

 

He came with a long, guttural moan and a burst of pleasure that overwhelmed him as he emptied himself into the condom. His hips keep moving in and out of Oswald as he rides out his orgasm.

 

When he returned to himself, he pulled his softening and sensitive cock out of Oswald who is still groaning and begging on his knees, one hand desperately stroking himself. Ed stripped off the condom, throwing it aside in an instant before he forcefully turned Oswald over into his back with both hands.

 

Ed crawled over him, predatorily, even as he slid two fingers into his loose hole, digging for his prostate. He found it, putting pressure against it even as one hand grabs the back of Oswald’s head in a rough kiss, open mouth and messy. He stroked it, alternating between keep thrusts with his fingers and pinpoint pressure, desperate to make Oswald come.

 

He succeeded, and he muffled Oswald’s scream with his own mouth, still thrusting his own fingers in and out of Oswald’s ass while the other man spilled messily in his own hand, covering both their stomachs with long white strips of come.

 

Ed pulled out his fingers, enjoying the whimper of exhaustion and pleasure that came out of Oswald’s mouth. He continued to kiss the other man lazily, already feeling his eyes droop in exhaustion.

 

He finds the strength to dig out a towel to clean them both up perfunctorily. Oswald was already drowsy, so fucked out that he barely puts any effort into the cleanup. Ed wants to join him, but his own need for cleanliness keeps him awake long enough to wipe them both down.

 

Finally, Ed managed to coax a bleary Oswald to crawl under the covers, leaving barely enough energy to snap off the lights before falls asleep, his arms wrapped around Oswald’s waist, content.

 

* * *

 

 

“Would you like to have dinner with me? Tomorrow?” Oswald asked, unsure but with a smile that spoke of nothing but hope. They were hovering at the open door, their early morning wake up having quickly turned into a late one between the second round of sex followed by shower and breakfast. Oswald’s damp hair clung to his forehead and the dirty dishes from their shared breakfast sat in the kitchen sink. They had no more excuses to linger for the rest of the day as much as Ed wanted to keep him here, in his apartment, forever.

 

“Yes! I mean, I’d love to,” Ed stumbled out quickly, eager, too eager he told himself. Stupid, stupid.

 

But that had evidently been the right thing to say as Oswald brightened, and his eyes shone with clear happiness. He was so expressive, and Ed was captivated by him. “Here,” he said, reaching a hand out to grab Ed’s cell phone, tapping away quickly at the keys. “Call me later?” Oswald said—asked—as he pressed the little phone back into Ed’s hand. “I’ll work out the details on when and where.”

 

Ed accepted his phone back, reverently, clutching it to his chest as though it would fly away if he let go. “I’ll call. Promise.”

 

“I’ll talk to you later then?” Oswald seemed as reluctant to leave as Ed, one hand toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

 

Ed nodded eagerly. “Definitely.”

 

Almost nervously, Oswald darted in and pressed a goodbye kiss on Ed’s lips. After everything they had done, it felt the most intimate. Ed pulled him back in for a second kiss, just as soft and chaste as the first, and they smiled at each other full of promise.

 

“Until later then.”

 

Ed waited at the door, watching as Oswald disappeared down the stairs with a pounding in his chest. When Oswald’s rhythmic footsteps faded, Ed flipped open his phone to look at the saved number. “Later,” he reminded himself, the single word a promise.

 

Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First written porn in decades is porn. There may have a continuation from Oswald's POV and/or a series. Any and all comments are loved!
> 
> <3


	2. Oswald - Saturday

_Toxic_ catered to a very different crowd than Oswald usually worked with—which was all upper-middle-class pretension that liked their double oaked bourbons and dry martinis. Instead, it was full of cheap well drinks, bartenders who showed more skin than skill, and hordes of 20-somethings who were eager to drink themselves into a stupor. It was exactly the place Oswald needed tonight.

 

Oswald just wanted a few hours of numbness, where he could forget himself and his shame, forget about his trampled pride, or perceived disappointments.

 

His mother, the trusting saint she was, thought that he was working. And normally, Oswald was. Fish Mooney liked him to work the bar and floor on Fridays, liked to watch him mix drinks as he flirted with clients, liked it when he whispered little secrets into her ear. Tonight though, Fish had Other Business that was of the Carmine Falcone flavor of schemes. Oswald wasn’t allowed to accompany her to these meetings, and in an uncharacteristic burst of charity, allowed him the evening off.

 

So instead of making moon eyes at overweight, middle-aged men who thought that a hefty tip would lead to an easy fuck, Oswald was on the prowl for someone more his type that _was_ an easy fuck.

 

He was three drinks in and admittedly a little sloppy when he bumped into Him. Oswald had been alternating between chugging his drinks with a grimace and dancing in the crowd, losing himself to the haze of alcohol and the steady beat of the music. He could forget everything when he danced like that, feeling nothing except the bass in his ears and the sweat dripping down his neck.

 

The alcohol made Oswald friendly, one of the reasons he rarely drank in the company of anyone he knew. He became too free with his words and affection, an intolerable weakness in his life, but one that was perfect for when he was looking for a night time companion. So when he looked at the poor man as he mumbled to himself and scrambled to clean up the sticky mess, he _wanted_.

 

Before he knows it, Oswald is waving down the bartender and buying the man a drink, finding his fumbling endearing and that _smile_ —that smile was to die for. It made the man’s face light up, taking him from unassuming dork to someone who could be mistaken as a model. He was out of Oswald’s league, but the bubble of alcohol made Oswald daring. Out of his league was his specialty.

 

To his pleasant surprise, Ed turned out to be funny and sweet, with a dark sense of humor that Oswald could relate too, and most definitely interested in Oswald. He would ramble sometimes, diverted by some strange topic that he knew far too much about, and Oswald would only half-listen, distracted by the way he’d wave his hands in excitement and picturing those same fingers wrapped around his cock.

 

Oswald wanted him to fuck him in the alley behind the club, wanted him to push him to his knees and make him beg. Oswald wanted to feel the scrape of his knees and the pull of his hair, the stretch of his muscles and the feeling of being _wanted_ , even if only for the night.

 

* * *

 

It had been a long time since Oswald had woken up next to someone. After the first few awkward mornings, Oswald had perfected the art of sneaking away before the other person woke up or, in many cases, departing right after he had gotten what he came for.

 

Sex with Ed, however, had been amazing. It had been a long time since he had a partner who was as invested in Oswald’s pleasure as much as their own. Oswald’s usual type—handsome, fit, and often arrogant—was often more concerned about getting themselves off than their partner, thinking that their very presence would be enough for Oswald’s orgasm. They were the type who took Oswald home because Oswald was, to put it simply, easy.

 

Oswald didn’t want the emotional entanglement, didn’t want anything more than a good fucking, and needed little convincing for someone to take him home. He was no beauty but being an easy lay tended to get him further with model-esque men than good looks did.

 

So, this is why, when he woke up to the sweet, sing-song, “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he wondered, for a moment, if he had been drugged.

 

But the night came back to him and he couldn’t help to try to give a smile back, drowsy but hiding his eagerness to find a way to excuse himself gracefully before he was kicked out. He didn’t want any subtle jibes or cruel remarks about him overstaying his welcome—didn’t need any more of those lingering in his memory, repeating themselves in his head in his darker moments. Even so, he expected, at best, a thank you and pointed lack of invitation for breakfast.

 

Instead, he got a kiss, the press of Ed’s lips against his own and the smallest hint of tongue. He sighed into the kiss automatically, opening his mouth further and letting his eyes slide shut as he welcomed Ed’s questing tongue into his own mouth, happy to be back in familiar territory.

 

He could feel the gritty layer of sugar on his own teeth and the somewhat unpleasant taste and scent of morning breath in Ed’s kiss but was quickly distracted by the sinful feeling of sliding their tongues together. Oswald lifted a hand to drape over the back of Ed’s neck, pulling him down and quickly turning the kiss into something dirty and eager.

 

He heard Ed’s squawk in surprise as he caught himself with one arm in the other side of Oswald, and he chuckled into the kiss. The one kiss turned into two, and then three before it was clear that neither has any intention to stop. Oswald caught Ed’s bottom lip in between his teeth, biting down lightly to elicit a strained groan.

 

Ed retaliated by pressing himself harder into Oswald’s mouth, dominating the kiss through sheer pressure and power.

 

Oswald moaned, enjoying the feeling of being pressed into the bed and the scrape of Ed’s morning shadow against his face. One of Ed’s hands found its way to the side of his face, thumb running circles in the tender flesh in front of Oswald’s ear as he cupped—controlled—Oswald’s head, devouring the other man.

 

Ed had given up any pretense of not being hard, rolling his hips against Oswald’s equally interested dick. Oswald spread his legs eagerly, making space for Ed as he continues to rock himself up to meet Ed’s pace, discordant and still so, so good.

 

“Fuck,” Oswald said, suddenly breaking off the kiss when he felt Ed push a finger into him, throwing his head back and his nails digging into Ed’s shoulder. He was still sore from the night before, the edges of his entrance feeling sore and his insides feeling raw. He was still loose enough that the burn, even without lube, was amazing. He instinctively spread his legs wider, asking for more.

 

Ed didn’t disappoint, sinking his finger deeper in short thrusts until he was buried to the knuckle. He wiggled his finger, catching Oswald’s prostate.

 

“Shit, shit, fuck,” Oswald moaned, hitching his leg up around Ed’s waist to get a better angle and arching his back. Ed was far too good at this, too good at using his fingers and finding the damn perfect spot. Most men didn’t bother past the initial prep which, even then, was usually rushed, the bare minimum courtesy before the main event. Ed, on the other hand, gave the stretching as much attention as the act itself, and fuck, it was _amazing_.

 

The second finger was harder to take, the stretch more of a sharp pain than a pleasurable ache, and Oswald couldn’t hide the wince. Oswald knew he shouldn’t have been surprised when Ed pulled back automatically, apologies already spilling from his lips, but he was. It wouldn’t have been the first time Oswald had taken it practically dry, with nothing more than a little spit and pre-come to ease the way, but something about Ed’s constant consideration for Oswald’s comfort and consent was...nice. Odd, but nice.

 

Oswald rolled to his side, propping himself up with an elbow as he watched Ed scramble to find the bottle of lube that had disappeared in the tangle of sheets and clothes overnight. Ed was shaking out the sheets, peering over the edge of the bed before finally giving up and finally crawling down to look underneath the bed frame. Oswald took the opportunity to admire Ed’s ass and the ripple of shifting muscles on his back as he lightly stroked himself, teasing touches to keep him hard as he waited.

 

When Ed gave an exclamation of success, Oswald couldn’t help the small quirk of a smile. God, this man was too cute. Oswald didn’t know how he managed to go from overeager, awkward puppy to confident, sexy dominant in a moment, but the unpredictable nature of it was beyond attractive.

 

Ed finally re-emerged, bearing both the lube and the extra condom in his hands.

 

Oswald hastily plucked them both from his hands, setting them aside on the bed even as he leaned up for another kiss. He reached to grab Ed’s cock, loving how it felt in his hand. God, he hadn’t expected this magnificent dick when he had first chosen Ed, but he had wanted nothing more than to be split upon it the moment he realized how _endowed_ Ed was at the club. Even through two layers of clothing, Oswald had felt the impressive girth, and he was not disappointed when the pants finally came off.

 

Oswald traced the tip of his tongue over Ed’s lips, teasing, before caressing and coaxing the other man back into a kiss, as his hand smoothly pumped Ed’s cock. It was just too thick for Oswald to be able to circle it with one hand and long enough that Oswald knew it would feel amazing to choke on. Fuck, he needed to feel that in his mouth.

 

Impatient, he broke off the kiss so he could maneuver Ed onto his back with a push on the shoulder, shimmying down the bed so he was eye-level with his prize. Without any warning, he slips his mouth over the head, forcing as much of it down his throat as he could in a single move.

 

The shout of surprise and pleasure that came out of Ed’s mouth was addicting, and Oswald focused on trying to give the best blowjob of his life.

 

He wrapped one hand around the base, bobbing his head up and down in time with his hand for a minute. He let the tip of the cock pop out of his mouth, coyly looking up at Ed as he gave kittenish lips to the slit, tasting the salty-sweet pre-come. Ed’s pupils were blown wide and glassy, and his hands were fisted into the sheets.

 

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” Oswald said as he pumped his hand up and down, twisting his wrist each time he met the sensitive ridge below the cock’s head. Ed liked that move—each time Oswald did it, he’d moan a bit louder and his hips would jerk in want, chasing the feeling.

 

Oswald licked a long stripe up the cock and then back down, not taking his eyes off Ed’s face. It took Ed a few seconds to gather enough brain cells to recognize the request, making Oswald preen. He gave a jerky nod, desperate, before placing one hand on the top of Oswald’s head.

 

Oswald wasted no time wrapping his lips around the head of his cock again, letting drool coat the cock as best he could as he lowered himself down as quickly as he could. He felt the tip hit the back of his throat and groaned, unintelligible around it as he eased it further down his throat.

 

Ed’s hand tightened, tugging at his hair, and fuck, that felt good. Oswald bobbed his head again, bringing himself lower and lower, taking small desperate breaths with each cycle, until he managed to take it all—his nose buried in the neatly trimmed patch of hair that surrounded Ed’s cock.

 

He didn’t move this time though, enjoying the stretch and moments of oxygen deprivation as he looked up at Ed only to find him looking back. He wondered what kind of sight he made, mouth stuffed full of cock and begging with his eyes for more.

 

“Fuck, you look good like that,” Ed growled, his voice back to that guttural tone that went straight to Oswald’s dick. “Do you like that? Like choking on my dick?”

 

Oswald tried to nod as best he could and moaned loudly around the cock. Yes, fuck, please. Fuck my mouth, please please please.

 

Ed must have gotten the message because the next thing Oswald knew, the hand on his head tightened and Ed’s hips started thrusting up as Oswald’s head was forced down.

 

It was a glorious rhythm. Oswald took small breaths each time he was able to open his throat wide enough for a breath but otherwise held on for the ride. He could feel drool dripping down the side of his mouth, and his eyes watered as he suppressed a gag with each thrust.

 

Ed forced Oswald off after a few minutes, pulling him up by his hair into a rough kiss, all teeth and biting and fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

When they separated, Oswald’s breath was heavy and uneven, his mouth bruised and eyes unsteady. He could feel the scratchiness of his throat, and he reveled in the tightness and ache.

 

“I’m going to fuck you again, okay?”

 

Oswald nodded, eagerly, unable to speak.

 

They rolled over again, and Oswald readily spread his legs for Ed. He watched as Ed hastily spread lubricant over his hand, watching the excess drip on the sheets. Desperate to make Ed lose control again, Oswald held his legs up from under his thighs, folding himself as best he could to present his hole, eager.

 

He could tell he succeeded by the sharp intake of breath and the rough slide of two fingers into him.

 

Oswald moaned, arching up and pulling his legs up higher. He wanted Ed to lose control, wanted him to fuck him hard and rough like he had the night before, stuff him until he couldn’t think of anything except how full he felt.

 

He knew he was begging, a litany of words coming out, desperate and hungry for more. He barely noticed when two fingers became three and damn it, he wanted Ed to hurry up.

 

His wish was granted, the hard press of the tip of his thick cock bearing down on him. Oswald took a deep breath, willing his body to relax as he felt Ed slowly press in, matching each press with an exhale

 

The ache was unimaginable even after everything, and Oswald had to remind himself to breathe. It hurt, giving just enough pain that it rode the edge of what Oswald wanted and too much. He closed his eyes as he felt Ed slowly work himself into Oswald’s body, the intrusion both familiar and foreign, painful and pleasurable.

 

When Ed finally bottomed out, Oswald groaned, wrapping one leg around his waist to try to pull him deeper and then almost coming at the pressure of deeper, fuller. But that was all the warning he got before Ed started to fuck him, long, fast strokes that drove Oswald mad.

 

He barely noticed when Ed took a knee in each hand, bending him further to almost his limit. The ache in the stretch of his muscles mixed with the pleasure of penetration was almost too much. He reached between his own legs, fucking his own hand in time with the thrust as his other hand braced himself against the headboard to meet each thrust with his own.

 

He was close, and he knew Ed was too by the increasingly frantic pace and deep grunts. He wanted Ed to come in him; he wanted Ed to fuck him raw, to stuff him full of come and to feel it leak out of his sore ass.

 

The thought sent him overboard, and he blacked out as he came over his own hand, strips of white hitting his stomach and chest.

 

Ed came barely a minute later, fucking harder into Oswald’s sore body. Oswald loved the feeling, loved the continued ache as someone used him even after his own orgasm for their please, loved knowing that they were getting off because of his body. It was a heady, addictive power, knowing that he could make someone feel like this.

 

Ed collapsed on him, breathing heavy and his dick softening in him. Oswald couldn’t help but tense his muscles, inciting a moan from the body on top of him. He felt Ed trail kisses along his neck, and Oswald responded by scraping his nails up and down his back, one hand petting his hair and scratching into the scalp.

 

Oswald groaned when Ed finally pulled out, the sudden feeling of emptiness both a disappointment and a relief. He barely noticed Ed tying off the condom, instead focusing on not falling back asleep.

 

“Well, good morning to you too,” he finally said, out of breath and sardonic, chuckling.

 

Ed joined in, and there was something comfortable about the two of them, basically stranger, fucked out and just…laughing together. It felt comfortable in a way that made him ache in a very different kind of want.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he let the almost scorching hot water run down neck and back, stinging the open scratches that he knew he was covered in. It was a little awkward, using someone else’s shower and to see the straight line of toiletries on the shelf, all the same brand and all facing the same direction as though still on the shelf at the store.

 

They smelled of mint and tea tree oil, soothing and sharp in a way that suited Ed.

 

Ed who, against all normal protocol of the morning after, had insisted that Oswald take a shower while he made breakfast. As in, actually cooking breakfast. For Oswald.

 

Oswald had been too startled to do much more than accept, gathering up his fallen clothes to bundle into his arms as Ed shuffled around to find him a clean towel. Before long, Oswald found a dark emerald towel pushed into his arms, and he was naked in another man’s bathroom.

 

The shower felt wonderful though. The water at the shared apartment he had with his mom was always lukewarm at best, and he was only rarely able to shower at the club.

 

He didn’t want to linger too long though—unfamiliar with such a space. He washed and conditioned his hair quickly, taking care to wash thoroughly around all the body aches. He winced when he rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder, looking down to only now noticed what was definitely a series of burgeoning hickeys on his right shoulder, mottled a dark purple with burst blood vessels. He felt oddly giddy at the sight though he couldn’t remember when Ed had given them to him.

 

He toweled himself off hastily before he pulled himself back in the clothes from the night before. The jeans were fine, though his shirt was a little bedraggled from sweat and spilled alcohol but there was nothing to be done for it. He gave himself a once over in the mirror, wincing at how he looked in the daylight.

 

Stripped of most of his makeup and in the clear light of day, he was never been more aware that he was nothing special to look at. The foundation he usually wore to dim his freckles had been wiped away and the lack of bronzer left him looking pasty and unappealing. Oswald checked his pocket, finding the one stick of eyeliner still tucked away and, in hopes it’d make him feel and look better, hastily reapplied the eye makeup, thickening the outer corners to draw attention to his eyes—what he has been reasonable assured was his best—and sometimes only—good feature.

 

He folded the damp towel, laying it over the edge of the counter before he pushed open the door to meet the scent of fresh coffee and the scrape of a spatula against Teflon.

 

Ed turned when he heard the movement and Oswald braced himself. Oswald had courage and confidence in the dim lighting of a club, hidden by the fog of alcohol and dim lights, or even in bed, still tired but clouded with lust, but here, in broad daylight with all his imperfections out, he knew Ed was disappointed. The beer goggles had come off, and now was when they’d share an awkward stilted breakfast unless Oswald managed to excuse himself with some fabricated reasoning.

 

Instead, he got the smile that had so entranced him the night before, wide and toothy in a way that could only be genuine. “Oswald! I didn’t know what you’d like so I made us French omelets. I didn’t have much in the way of accompaniments so I hope you don’t mind arugula with a dash of oil and lemon.”

 

Ed was plating the smooth yellow omelets as he spoke, the shine of butter looking as if it came directly off the line in some high-end bistro. Each plate already had a small cluster of greens, lightly dressed with a sprinkle of fresh pepper and halved cherry tomatoes.

 

Ed continued, eyes shooting back down as he fussed with each plate. “But if you don’t like omelets, I’m sure I can make some pancakes instead. Or bacon. Or French toast. Did you want tea or coffee? I made both. I prefer tea myself, Ceylon with a dash of sugar and milk. Did you know Ceylon tea is named that because it was brought to Sri Lanka from China which was named Ceylon at the time? Not very creative if you ask me, but the social structure surrounding its cultivation is fascinating.”

 

Oswald watched as Ed kept chattering even as he added the final sprig of fresh parsley on the top as a garnish. The man was even using a clean towel to wipe away the excess oil from the sides of the plate while he used a spoon to shift the food one way or another in some aesthetically pleasing arrangement. 

 

“—most of the industry consists of female laborers despite—“ Ed suddenly snapped his jaw shut and ducked his head, suddenly pulling away from his professional level plating. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you aren’t interested in that. Tea or coffee?”

 

Oswald gave a smile, endeared. “Ceylon tea would be lovely, Ed. And what were you saying? Despite what?”

 

Ed looked at Oswald, flabbergasted, and Oswald wondered how many people actually listened to him. Oswald wasn’t particularly interested in the history of tea but the way Ed would light up and gesticulate was infectious.

 

Before they realized, they were chatting over two perfect—delicious, amazing—omelets and sipping tea from porcelain cups. Oswald savored the sweet, buttery taste of the eggs, the custard-like texture melting in his mouth, rich in a way that he was rarely able to enjoy.

 

Oswald was surprised to find conversation easy. Ed seemed like this endless wealth of knowledge and after he realized that Oswald was actually interested in what he had to say, he was more than happy to share. The riddles were a little odd, Oswald would admit, but his enthusiasm was contagious.

 

Conversations had never been easy with Oswald. Normally he spent minutes, hours, days, dissecting every interaction, every movement, to uncover what made someone tick all in the name of what was the best way to manipulate everything in his own favor. However, this was the first time that he’d ever been able to be himself, the first time that he had ever been able to just speak and not consider every intonation and every facial expression.

 

He has been afraid when the first time he slipped up, snarky bitterness coming out in full force instead of what he was hoping was casual confidence. Instead of the awkward silence, Ed laughed and added his own dark humor, not perturbed by what many would consider a particularly cruel sideline about a coworker.

 

Oswald has been expecting something different from this man, but what, Oswald couldn’t say anymore. Whatever he had been expecting was not what he received—men who looked like Ed did not treat people like Oswald like this. Oswald, who despite his mother’s best upbringing, was plagued by years of poverty and malnutrition, who learned to scrape and claw for every inch he was given, and who many stilled looked at like the gutter rats that was beneath them. But Ed treated Oswald like he was something special, like he was the most interesting and amazing man, like Ed was the one surprised that Oswald was staying and not the other way around.

 

Oswald didn’t know what it meant, but when he leaned up to give Ed’s a tentative, unsure goodbye kiss, he knew that he couldn’t wait to find out.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald hurried up the steps of the club, taking them two at a time. His mother had fussed over him, worried that he was overworking himself with two shifts back-to-back. He had barely been able to hide the hickeys that dotted his neck while placating his mother.

 

Oswald spied Fish at her customary table, front and center, as she watched the night’s entertainment practice on the small stage. It was a classy burlesque routine tonight, one of the more popular and crowd-pleasing entertainment. Oswald didn’t need to see Fish’s face to know that she was not in the best of moods. He had learned long ago how to read her movements and spot her tells. It was easy to see in the angle of her shoulders and the cock of her head that she was not to be trifled with today. She was always in a foul mood after a meeting with Carmine Falcone.

 

Because Fish Mooney had ambition, and that ambition would never be satisfied with being an underling. It was part of the reason that Oswald chose Fish and not one of the other dozens of the lieutenants under Falcone. Fish Mooney has worked her way up from a nobody to a somebody with the type of drive that was to be admired. Oswald knew she had a soft spot for the nobodies. She wanted to be admired and worshipped more than the others, those who were born and raised knowing they’d be sitting at Falcone’s table one day, and it made her an easy target.

 

And Oswald was, if nothing else, a great actor and he had been putting in a show for Fish since he first called her Miss Mooney with a supplicant smile and fawning eagerness.

 

Oswald had been working for her for over five years, one of the many employees who cycled through the doors of the club. She was kind to him, favored him over most, but he wasn’t her go-to, wasn’t her confidant yet. Fish liked to travel with an entourage, an adoring crowd, and Oswald was becoming more and more common amongst her favorites.

 

Fish was smart and suspicious. Oswald had been spending years on the con, ingratiating himself with her, always making sure her favorite drink was made to perfection, being the first to offer her an umbrella, or the first to open the door. He played on her at maternal attempts; seething each time she thought she was anything like his actual mother.

 

“Oh, if it isn’t my little bird,” Fish said turning her head side and showing her face in a regal profile. Oswald was always the first to arrive, overeager to please.

 

“Hello, Ms. Mooney,” Oswald greeted, his voice shy and submissive. “Can I get you anything to drink this afternoon?” He knew better than to assume her preferences when she was in one of these moods. One wrong move might lead to a beating for being too presumptuous or simply for being the scapegoat needed for entertainment.

 

Fish beckoned him over with the crook of one finger that showed up her long stiletto nails, painted a wine red and crystals gleaming from where they were nestled against her cuticles. “Come to Fish, baby.”

 

Oswald rushed over, dropping down to one knee before her and gazing up at her, letting appreciation for the sweep of her hair and the deadly cut of her eyeliner to reflect in his expression. Behind him, the show continued on, heedless of the newcomer; everyone knew better than to stop for anything short of a bullet to the knee.

 

Fish leaned forward, taking Oswald by the chin and turning his face this way and that, inspecting. Oswald always hated these moments where he felt that Fish was looking for the answer and question that Oswald could not read from her. He was careful to keep his face open and adoring with the smallest edge of fear. Obsequiousness was a double-edged blade—too much came off as ingenious and too little was disrespectful.

 

Oswald could feel her hand run down the side of his neck, the sharp points of her nails ghosting over his skin. The nails dug in harder when they reached the junction between his neck and shoulder, and Oswald couldn’t suppress the wince of pain.

 

He allowed Fish to unbutton the pressed white dress shirt, hands working slow and meticulous with a dexterity that was to be envied. He let her push the fabric off his shoulders to show the myriad of hickeys and scratches that Ed had left on him, sharp red welts and mottled bruises in shifting purples. Oswald bit his lip while he internally seethed; hating how she stripped him, exposed him, like this.

 

Fish smiled, the expression on the knife edge between cruel and kind. “My, my, has my little penguin been freelancing?”

 

Oswald suppressed the desire to reach over and stab her with her own wine glass. Instead, he looked down, as though embarrassed and ashamed, flustered. “Ms. Mooney, you know I’ve never, would never. I don’t, not for—“

 

Oswald clicked his mouth shut when Fish leaned back in her chair, shoulders relaxing as she relocated her hand to comb through his hair affectionately. “I’m only teasing, darling. I know you never take money for sex. Pity, really.”

 

The unanswered insult that Oswald took something else for sex lingered, and Oswald bristled.

 

Because Oswald only traded sex for things that were worth it—secrets and favors—and nothing ever as plebeian as simple cash. He’d drop to his knees if one of Fish’s clients liked him and if he thought it’d win her favor or if having them in his back pocket was something worthwhile,  something that could lead to him squeaking out all the dirty little secrets no one talked about except when half blissed out in a post-coital heap. His body was a weapon as much as his mind and Oswald wasn’t too proud to use every resource at his disposal.

 

But he didn’t like what Fish liked to imply, didn’t like being called a whore when he was smarter than any two-bit hooker found on the street corner. Oswald knew what he was worth, and _money_ just didn’t cut it.

 

All of that made Oswald wish that he could wipe that smug look off Fish’s face but instead, he kept his eyes lowered and let a red blush crawl up his cheeks, leaning into Fish’s petting as though eager for her touch and approval.

 

It worked because Fish simply tutted and brushed her thumb over his bottom lip as she forced his chin up. “Manhattan, three cherries.” She patted him on the cheek like he was a child. “Be a dear, would you?”

 

Oswald hurried to nod, scrambling up and unbuttoning his shirt hastily. He could see the grin on Butch’s amused face from his normal perch on the sidelines, lewd and amused, and the angry blush deepened as he hurried to the bar.

 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, breaking him out of his agitated thoughts. He chanced a glance back at Fish and Butch even as he reached up to pull down a bottle of Fish’s favorite whiskey from the top shelf with one hand and a clean long-stemmed cocktail glass with the other. Finding them both preoccupied, Oswald pulled his phone out from his back pocket and couldn’t hide the giddy smile at the notification. Ed had barely waited two hours before contacting him, and Oswald flipped the phone open, heart hammering as he opened the message.

 

He had to stifle a bark of laughter at the riddle.

 

_> >What did the bee say to the flower?_

 

This man would be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Hello, honey."_
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> \----
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> So ends their first meeting(s)! Potential for me to continue this verse as it gets toward canon-era if there is interest. <3
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> Any and all comments are really appreciated!


	3. Oswald - Sunday

Oswald decided on Italian, because everyone liked Italian, right? The decision on what to wear was much harder. What did you wear on a first date when you’ve already fucked twice? He attempted not to fret, the man had already seen him naked, but that didn’t stop him from changing his outfit three times. He eventually settled on casual and simple: skinny jeans with a deep eggplant V-neck under a black blazer he found at the thrift store. He kept a light hand as he did his makeup, giving himself a subtle dusting of purple eyeshadow and a minimalistic amount of eyeliner and mascara.

 

When he arrived five minutes early, Ed was already waiting at the front door, looking nervous as he kept checking his phone. He looked so different than the day before, clad in a deep green sweater over black dress pants and a bouquet of flowers poorly hidden behind his back. Surprisingly, a pair of glasses were perched on his nose. It was cute, in a nerdy librarian type of way, and somehow it was both exactly and not at all what he expected.

 

“Ed,” Oswald called as he jogged up and was blinded by that swoon-worthy smile he got in return. “Been waiting long?” he asked.

 

“No, not at all,” Ed said, nervous and obviously lying. “I brought these for you.” He offered the bouquet out, full of light blue and gray blooms dotted with baby’s breath. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you hydrangeas and delphinium. And I didn’t know your favorite color but, um,” Ed stuttered, “the blue reminded me of your eyes.”

 

Oswald couldn’t help himself. He got on his toes and pressed a quick kiss on the man’s cheek as he took the bouquet from his hands. He buried his face in the flowers, ostensibly to give them a sniff but to really hide the hot blush that he knew he had. He looked at Ed coyly from behind the flowers, suddenly feeling shy. “Thank you,” he murmured. “No one has ever brought me flowers.”

 

“Oh, well,” Ed said, readjusting his glasses. “I am glad you like them. Should we, um, go inside?”

 

The _Romanza_ was a popular restaurant that toed the line between casual and formal, which is the main reason Oswald had chosen it. It was, also, a well-known date spot and was full of small tables, packed together cleverly to give the illusion of intimacy and privacy. They were led to such a table, tucked against the wall and in the corner, lit only be dimmed sconces and a little tea candle. Oswald blushed deeper when Ed pulled out his chair for him—it was old-fashioned in a way that Oswald had always secretly liked.

 

The conversation was stilted at first, both unsure of what to say. They settled on a safe choice and spent several minutes discussing the menu. It ended up being a surprisingly interesting conversation starter as any since Ed was a wealth of information about Italian food. Oswald should have known—that omelet he had eaten has been amazing, and Ed was clearly passionate about cooking if he could whip something like that up without a thought.

 

Ed tentatively offered to choose the wine for them, mentioning that he knew a thing or two about wines which Oswald interpreted that he was probably as close to a sommelier one could get without being a professional.

 

And somehow, dinner went well—more than well, amazing. Their conversation, after both of their nerves had settled, was smooth and seamless as it had been at breakfast the day before. Ed carrying on about something he found interesting with Oswald interjecting with some snide comment that he quickly realized made Ed smile, a change from the normal annoyed or offended look most men got when Oswald was a little too honest.

 

Their interactions were natural in a way that Oswald hadn’t known was possible; it was like they just fit together, the jagged edges of their lives meeting so naturally that it scared him. When the dinner ended, they lingered outside the restaurant door, both unwilling to let the date end.

 

“Did you,” Ed said tentatively, "want to go for a walk? There is a park not far from here.”

 

That park was a den of drug dealers and junkies this time at night, but Oswald didn’t care. “I’d love to,” he said and then, boldly, took Ed’s hand in his own with his other arm hugging the bouquet close to his chest.

 

“So, Mr. Nygma,” he said as they walked, hand and hand and trying not to blush. “What brings you to Gotham?”

 

“Oh,” he said, getting that excited look on his face that Oswald was already able to identify. “I’m a forensic pathologist with the GCPD, which means I get to figure out what killed someone. In fact, just last week we had this interesting case where a body showed up without any apparent cause of death but was covered in these uniform pink spots. It didn’t match any known allergens, and nothing showed up on their toxicology screening.” Ed continued to chatter on, describing the case as they strolled.

 

Oswald’s heart dropped into his stomach. The GCPD? Of course, Oswald had to find an amazing man who worked for the damn police. It may not mean much, most cops in Gotham were dirty, and Ms. Mooney herself was known to enjoy the company of Detective Bullock in a way that was decidedly not professional. But Ed was new to Gotham—what if he...what if he did care? Fish Mooney was a well-known gangster, and Oswald had been party to many, _many_ illegal activities.

 

“-wald? Oswald? I’m sorry, I must be boring you,” Ed said, breaking Oswald out of his thoughts with the nervous flutter in his voice. Oswald just noticed that he had stopped walking.

 

“Ah,” Oswald said, unsure what to say. “No, it’s fine. I just…” He cut off, hesitant. It was early stages yet, but Oswald liked Ed, he liked him a lot. Perhaps it was best to cut it off now before he got too deep or, at least, put all the cards on the table.

 

Ed turned fully so they were facing each other, brows furrowed in concern. “Oswald? Did I...do something wrong? I’m not, well, practiced at this, you know, dates, and I—”

 

“No, that’s not it,” Oswald interjected, already knowing from their short acquaintance that if he didn’t cut in, Ed would never stop. “I just didn’t know you worked for the police.”

 

“Oh, is that...bad?” Ed asked, worried. He squeezed Oswald’s hand a little tighter before reluctantly moving to pull away.

 

“Not...necessarily,” Oswald hedged, squeezing the hand back and refusing to let go. “It’s just that the club I work at? It’s _Mooney’s_ , as in Fish Mooney’s club.”

 

“Fish Mooney,” Ed said after a pause, “Lieutenant under Don Falcone, forty-one years of age, owns and runs several businesses, including three nightclubs, two restaurants, and, allegedly, a brothel.” He listed off the information as though reading it from a report, pulling the information from his memory in a way that was stunning. He tilted his head and looked at Oswald, confused. “Is...that a problem?”

 

“I mean,” Oswald said, trying not to play with his hair, a nervous tick he was working on banishing. “You work for the police and Fish, well, isn’t exactly on the more legal side of the business.” And neither am I. But he didn’t say that aloud but gave Ed a pointed and guilty look.

 

“Oh!” Ed said, perking up and smiling, unconcerned. “I won’t say anything, of course. Honestly, criminal justice doesn’t hold any interest for me. Forensics was really the only way I would be allowed to run experiments with bodies—it’s really fascinating how the human body works. Did you know…”

 

Oswald felt that he should be more concerned about that confession or surprised, but Ed had somehow managed to throw every expectation out of the water. The fact that he liked cutting into dead bodies would be more worrying if Oswald hadn’t already put half a dozen bodies in the river himself.

 

So, Oswald wasn’t concerned—and maybe he should be concerned about how unconcerned he was.

 

Ed was still talking, and Oswald managed to pull him down by the neck for a kiss, startling the man out of his undoubtedly educational lecture.

 

“I have a better idea than the park,” he said, eyes darkening with renewed lust and voice laced heavy with suggestion.

 

“Do you?” Ed said, still nervous, but Oswald caught the hitch in his breathing and the way his voice came out rough and wanting.

 

Oswald giggled and gave a quick look around, before pulling Ed by the hand to the nearest alley. It was surprisingly clean and clear of the homeless—there had likely been a raid and sweep in the area. The mayor and police commissioner liked to put on a show every once in a while, to make it look like they still cared. Either way, it was perfect for what Oswald had in mind.

 

Oswald set his bouquet gently down and out of the way before he pushed Ed up against the wall and kissed him again. The kiss was lewd, open-mouthed with the push of his tongue between his lips. One hand worked its way into the taller man’s hair even as Oswald tried to get closer, tried to crawl into the other man’s skin. He felt Ed’s hands reach to grab his ass, kneading the mounds as they thrust against each other—both hard in record time.

 

Oswald squeaked in surprise when Ed put his hands under Oswald’s thighs in a clear signal. Oswald automatically wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, not breaking the hot slide of their mouths. He sucked on Ed’s tongue for a second, before pulling away to trace his tongue over his swollen lips. He opened his eyes to look into Ed’s, bewitched by the way they bored into him, stripped him.

 

Ed spun them, pressing Oswald’s back up against the wall, keeping him trapped between Ed and the brick wall.

 

Fuck yes. Exactly what Oswald had been hoping for.

 

Ed’s mouth trailed along Oswald’s neck, pushing back the top of his blazer and shirt to worry at one of the existing hickeys. He bit down and Oswald let out an embarrassingly loud moan. “Fuck Ed,” he said, feeling the wet slide of his tongue while they tried to fuck each other through their pants. His own jeans were getting painful, the hard press of his cock against the zipper felt like agony, and fuck why did he decide that skinny jeans were a good idea.

 

“Ed, Ed,” he said, breathless as the man continued to mark his neck, hands on his ass and just taking Oswald along for the ride. “Wait, stop, stop.” He was so hard, and he didn’t want this to end so soon.

 

Ed came to a complete halt, pulling back and looking at Oswald, concerned. Oswald felt him shift, about to let him down, and Oswald forced their mouths together before he could. Oh Ed, so sweet and concerned. “Let me blow you,” Oswald said when they parted, rushed and wanting. “I want to suck your dick.”

 

Ed moaned, low and throaty, into his ear at the thought as he set Oswald onto his feet.

 

Oswald pushed him up against the wall after he steadied himself and gave him another long teasing kiss before he dropped to his knees.

 

He looked up, and Ed was half-lit by the orange light from a nearby staff exit; Oswald wondered what someone would think if they came out and saw him like this, on his knees before this beautiful man who he was about to wreck.

 

Oswald pressed his cheek against the prominent bulge at the front of his pants, eyes up as he teased. Ed’s hand was tangled loosely in his hair, light and undemanding. Oswald would make sure that would change.

 

He mouthed the clothed bulge, licking at the fabric and inhaling the scent of musk and arousal.

 

Ed groaned. “Oh dear.”

 

Oswald didn’t let up, undoing his belt as he continued to tease with his mouth until he had Ed’s pants and underwear pulled down just enough to release his hard cock. Oswald could feel his mouth water at the sight. Thick and circumcised, he wanted to feel it on his tongue. It bobbed with Ed’s shifting, and Oswald’s eyes traced the outline of the purple-red head and the prominent vein that ran on its underside. Fingers lifted to just barely touch him, and Ed inhaled sharply.

 

Oswald smirked as he reached to grab the cock by the base to keep it steady. He pumped it a few times with both hands, watching Ed’s face as the man moaned and tried thrust into his hands.

 

Ed was rock hard, deliciously so, and curved up in a way that Oswald loved. He licked his lips briefly before he ran his tongue from the base to the tip, swirling the head in his mouth to lick up the salty pre-come. He felt Ed’s hand tightened briefly in his hair and gave himself a pat on the back.

 

He took a deep breath and then swallowed him, pushing the entire length down his throat. The ache of his girth was a delicious stretch for his mouth. He pulled off as he felt his gag reflex start to protest, and took a large gulp of air, using a hand to wipe away the tears that always gathered in his eyes while the other hand continued to pump Ed in slow strokes.

 

“Oh dear,” Ed said again, his voice a ruin as he looked at the kneeling man.

 

Oswald just stuck his tongue out, mouth wide and brought the head into his mouth while he held Ed’s eyes. He bobbed his head, moaning around the cock, while he braced himself against the man’s thighs. One hand snaked down to hurriedly undo his own pants, the pain finally overtaking his own lust, and he freed himself, moaning as his cock was released into the night air.

 

He started to pump himself in time with his bobbing until Ed’s voice deepened and the hand in his hair fisted it, hard, and pulled him off his cock.

 

Oswald looked up and whined at the loss, lips swollen and eyes wanting, wanting to taste that dick again, feel how it felt in his throat.

 

“No,” Ed said, pulling his hair back to make Oswald bare his neck and hiss in pain-pleasure. “You aren’t allowed to touch yourself,” he said, and the tone made Oswald’s dick twitch. “That’s mine to play with.”

 

Oswald nodded, removing his hand with another throaty protest.

 

Ed lightened his grip to run the hand down to rest on his neck while the other reached down to hold himself at the base. “Good boy,” he murmured, low, and fuck, how did Ed know that’s what he wanted to hear.

 

“Open your mouth,” Ed ordered, and Oswald did eagerly, his tongue out, wanton and begging.

 

He moaned when Ed traced his lips with the head of his cock, moistening them with the familiar taste of pre-come. Ed rubbed the head of his cock onto his tongue, and Oswald wanted all of it, wanted to suck on it.  

 

“Tap me twice if you want me to stop,” Ed said, still teasing his cock around Oswald’s waiting mouth but voice gentle.

 

Oswald nodded, eager.

 

“I need to hear you say it,” Ed ordered, still petting Oswald’s hair, brushing his bangs off his forehead as he used the same sweet but dominating voice that Oswald loved.

 

“Tap you twice if I want you to stop,” Oswald said, obedient.

 

“Good boy,” Ed said again, and fuck, it was perfect. Ed gripped his head with both hands as he slammed his cock down his eager throat. Oswald braced himself, both hands on Ed’s thrusting hips, and moaned around the intrusion, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

 

The pace was rapid, and the air was filled with nothing more than the sound of gagging and harsh breathing. Oswald loved the feeling, loved it when men did this to him, loved that Ed remembered. His cock was aching, and he wanted nothing more than to touch it, but the sound of Ed’s praise stayed his hand.

 

Ed finally stopped, hands in Oswald’s hair, his nose pressed into his pubic hair, and held him there. Oswald counted the seconds, hands gripping the pale thighs and fuck, it felt so good. The lack of air, the feeling of Ed down his throat, the scent of Ed, and the scrape of his knees against the dirty concrete.

 

Ed pulled him off, and Oswald looked up at him, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, mouth still parted. Ed growled at the image and pushed Oswald’s face back into his crotch.

 

Oswald happily opened his mouth, enjoying the scratches to his scalp as he bobbed his head. Ed’s breathing was getting ragged, and Oswald wrapped a hand around the base of Ed’s cock, moving it up and down in time with his mouth. Ed was close, he could tell, his balls tightening, and his fingers getting rougher in his hair.

 

He quickened his pace and Ed came with a groan and a painful squeeze to Oswald’s shoulder. Oswald pulled off his cock when he felt the first taste of bitter come. He wanted to feel it on him, marking him, and he opened his mouth to catch some on his tongue. He felt the warm, thick liquid hit his cheek, his nose, and his closed eyes. He brought the softening cock back into his mouth, cleaning it his tongue in soft laps as he opened his eyes to looked up at Ed.

 

He must have made quite the picture, on his knees, still hard, covered in his come even as he continued to lick the other man. It felt good, amazing, to see Ed’s face—so open and disbelieving and ruined.

 

He was pulled to feet with a rough tug on the arm, and Ed crushed their lips together, unmindful of the taste of his own semen as he devoured Oswald’s mouth.

 

Ed was the one who dropped to his knees now, wrapping his mouth around Oswald without any warning. Oswald almost felt his knees buckle, and he reached behind him to catch himself against the wall. Ed was pulling his pants down further until he was exposed, pants around his thighs. Oswald barely had time to take in the sight of Ed sucking on two of his fingers, coating them liberally with saliva before Ed brought his tongue to his cock again. He felt Ed’s hand questing behind him and groaned when he felt the slight pressure at his entrance.

 

He hitched one leg over Ed’s shoulder to give the man more room. Ed took advantage of the new position, continuing the light teasing of his hole coupled with the hot mouth around his cock. The burn was amazing when Ed pressed his finger in finally, rough and perfect. A second finger joined, too soon and too rough and exactly what he wanted. Oswald barely had a moment to say, “Ed, fuck, I’m gonna—” before Ed pressed both fingers right against his prostate and Oswald came with a shout.

 

Ed clamped his lips over the head of Oswald’s cock, still thrusting his finger in and out of Oswald while the other pumped at Oswald’s cock, milking him as he rode out his orgasm. Ed suckled at the tip when Oswald came down, and Oswald watched with glazed eyes as Ed swallowed, making a contemplating face at the taste.

 

Oswald slumped, putting his arm over his eyes, unmindful of the cooling come that still covered his face. He leaned his shoulder blades against the wall, feeling and hearing Ed tuck them both back into their pants. “Jesus, are you always like this during sex?”

 

He opened his eyes again to see Ed looking at him, the quiet confidence gone and replaced with nervous fidgeting as he offered him an honest-to-god cloth handkerchief. Oswald leaned up to kiss him, banishing that look of uncertainty as he took the offered cloth and proceeded to clean his face, still mindful to not smudge his makeup.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that,” Ed said as he waited. “I am afraid my experience in this area is rather limited.”

 

Oswald cocked an eyebrow at that, disbelieving. “Limited my ass,” Oswald said with a snort. “No way anyone who has ever had sex with you would let you out of their bed afterward. Jesus.”

 

“Ah, well,” Ed said, hesitant. “I’m afraid you are the only sample size on that endeavor, so conclusions can’t be accurately drawn.”

 

That made Oswald pause, and he tried not to gape. “Wait, what?”

 

Ed cleared his throat, unnecessarily taking his glasses off to clean so he could avoid Oswald’s eyes. “You are the only person I have had sex with.”

 

Oswald didn’t know what to say—this had to be a joke. “So Friday. You had never had sex before Friday? With me?”

 

“Correct,” Ed admitted, trying to look nonchalant.

 

“Holy shit,” Oswald said. “Holy fucking shit.”

 

“I am aware that inexperience is not usually an attractive quality in a mate, but I want to assure you that I am a quick learner. I am sure I can improve our encounters with your feedback.”

 

“Jesus,” Oswald said, running a hand over his face. Ed wasn’t joking. He honest to god wasn’t joking.

 

Ed was looking more worried, and Oswald decided to put the man out of his misery. He pulled him in for another kiss. “Ed, sweetie, this has been some of the best damn sex I’ve had. And considering you had sex for the first time less than forty-eight hours ago tells me I’m the lucky fucking man to have found you first.” He kissed him again, a sweet nip to his lips before he buried his face into the crook of Ed’s neck to snuggle against him. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do all that if you’ve never had sex?”

 

“Ah,” Ed said, still uncertain. He wrapped his arms around Oswald’s waist and nuzzled into his hair. “Books, mostly. I have a strong background in anatomy and have done extensive research on the physical and sociological nature of sexual relationships. Based on our previous encounters and your body language, I deduced your preference to be the receiving partner during penetration as well as your predilection for sexual submission.”

 

Oswald really shouldn’t find him talking like this so hot, but he did, so he brushed his nose against Ed’s neck, gentling nipping at the salty skin as he hummed, enjoying the way it made Ed gasp.

 

“Though I will admit I had not realized my own overwhelming preference to be the dominant party, so I do apologize if it was not to your liking,” Ed continued on, rambling even as he leaned into the touch.

 

“It was perfect, Ed,” Oswald reassured, tilting his head up and asking for another kiss that Ed’s happily granted. “Well, now that that’s out of our system, do you still want to go for a walk?”

 

Ed blushed, an endearing reaction from a man who had just let Oswald blow him in a dirty alley. “How about,” Ed started to suggest, shy again and it was amazing how secure he was in the bedroom and not elsewhere, "we go back to my place?”

 

Oswald gave him a scandalized look that he followed with a coquettish grin, mostly to tease.

 

“Not for that! Not that I’m not amiable to another sexual encounter with you tonight, but my refractory period—” Ed cut off when Oswald started to laugh. He pouted for a moment before Oswald soothed him with a kiss. “I meant,” he tried again, “maybe just a movie and some tea? There is a new documentary on serial killers that I have been interested in that we could watch together.”

 

Ed said it with such a hopeful and excited smile—and Oswald should again probably be worried about how much his date was fascinated by murder and death, but it would be a little hypocritical.

 

Oswald just gave him another kiss before scooping up his abandoned bouquet. His heart gave a leap when Ed reached to take his hand again, lacing their fingers together, and Oswald couldn’t stop from giving him another kiss. He smiled into the kiss, eyes bright and sparkling and so damn happy. “Your place,” he said with an affectionate squeeze to their joined hands, “sounds great.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...I guess this is just going to continue to be a thing. I don't know how many parts it will be so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> If you enjoyed, please take a moment to leave a comment to let me know! Comments are what feed my inspiration. <3


	4. Edward - Thursday

Ed was giddy.

 

Sunday night with Oswald had been fantastic. The man was even more interesting than Ed recalled, so full of intelligence and vibrancy, and he listened to Ed, actually listened to Ed. He called him things like amazing and perfect and kissed him all the time like he just wanted to, and it made Ed’s head spin.

 

Being curled up together on the couch had been something out of a dream, the smaller man tucked into his side as they sipped cups of herbal tea. Even the documentary—that was really quite fascinating—hadn’t been able to pull his attention away from Oswald, the way his mascara had smeared to leave dark shadows under his eyes or the way his smile would stretch across his face when something particularly gruesome was described.

 

Ed had been a little disappointed when Oswald declined to spend the night but had worked up the courage to request another date.

 

Thursday! Two more days away. Ed had been agonizing over asking since Oswald had texted him back that first morning, but he had managed to secure two tickets to the visiting Moscow ballet.

 

And he had been right—Oswald’s eyes grew wide and the smile that had crossed his face had stolen his breath.

 

“Nygma!”

 

Ed was brought out of his daydream at the sound of his name. He readjusted his glasses before smiling at the detective. “Detective Bullock. How may I assist?”

 

The gruff detective had quickly found issue with Ed, to his chagrin. Ed was “creepy” and “weird” and the older man was all bluster and insults that made a part of Ed wants to reach over and excise the bones from the man’s legs, one at a time. But instead, he remained unfailing polite, tamping down the violent thoughts to the back of his mind.

 

“Double homicide in the Narrows,” Detective Bullock grunted out as he pushed the address into Ed’s hands before walking away.

 

Ed felt his blood boil as he watched the retreating back, eyes narrowed before he caught himself. “Okie dokie,” he said to no one, following the man to the parking lot.

 

Hopefully, the bodies would tell him something fun today.

 

* * *

 

Thursday crawled toward him at a disgustingly slow pace, even when interrupted by the occasional snide text from Oswald that would make Ed’s heart jump. Oswald was meeting him at the theater which made Ed fidget, always feeling like he was going to be stood up no matter how he reminded himself that Oswald hadn’t let him down yet. He had opted for one of his favorite suits that he never had an occasion to wear—a deep forest green that was almost black in low lights and a matching tie with his favorite tie clip, gold and shaped like a question mark.

 

He still hadn’t figured out Oswald’s favorite flowers, so had brought him a bouquet of whites and purple—at least now he knew Oswald’s favorite color.

 

He arrived his customary fifteen minutes early in front of the opera house, trying not to fret as he carefully arranged the bouquet to his liking. He had chosen the flowers, and the florist had taken care of the arrangement, but he liked to make sure it was exactly as he wanted, only the best for Oswald. He only looked up once he heard footsteps and the call of his name.

 

The sight of Oswald was breathtaking. He was dressed in a prim three-piece suit, black with a pop of purple on his lapels and an old-fashioned cross tie that suited him beautifully. Paired with classic black and white brogues, he made a stunning image of class, and Ed forgot how to speak momentarily.

 

Luckily Oswald took the initiative, standing on his toes to give Ed a peck on the lips that made his insides give a flip. “Are those for me?” Oswald asked, teasing as he looked at the flowers.

 

“Ah, yes,” Ed stumbled, holding them out. “You never told me your favorite flower, but you mentioned that your favorite color was purple.”

 

Oswald hummed as he examined the bundle of irises and wolf’s bane, interspersed with lily of the valley and white hydrangeas. “Did you,” Oswald started to say, eyes widening and face taking a look of glee and amazement, “choose all poisonous flowers?”

 

Ed flushed, not sure whether he was pleased or embarrassed. “It seemed fitting. Because you are beautiful and deadly.” Stupid, it sounded so stupid now that he said it aloud.

 

Except Oswald laughed, and not the cruel laugh that had followed Ed his entire life, but a delighted laugh, borderline giggle, of joy. “You are something else, Edward Nygma,” he said, his tone delighted and intrigued. “Thank you for the flowers. I love them.”

 

Ed preened and offered up his arm to escort Oswald into the opera house that the man took up eagerly, cradling the bouquet in his opposite arm.

 

“So, what is showing tonight?” Oswald asked as they found their way to their seats—balcony, second row and not ideal but the best he could find on such short notice. Orchestra seats would have been ideal but were out of his price range—especially for such last-minute seating.

 

“Giselle,” Ed answered, offering Oswald an unnecessary hand as they descended the small set of steps into the flat landing of the balcony. “It was first performed by the Ballet du Théâtre de l'Académie Royale de Musique at the Salle Le Peletier in 1985, with the Italian ballerina Carlotta Grisi as the titular dancer.”

 

“I’ve never had a chance to see Giselle,” Oswald said as they took their seats, Oswald carefully setting his bouquet under the seat to protect it from being trampled. “My mother always said it was one of her favorites though—she was a dancer in Hungary when she was younger.”

 

“Do you dance?” Ed asked to be polite even though he knew the answer.

 

Oswald smiled though and gave him a look, coy and knowing. “Something tells me you already know the answer to that, Ed,” he purred.

 

“Ah, yes,” Ed said, preening and wanting to impress. “The pattern of bruising and calluses on your feet are indicative of familiarity with dance, specifically en-pointe. Your right ankle also shows signs of weakness, most likely from overuse and muscle strain. However, the age and extent of the damage hint at more casual pursuits in recent years. I would guess that you have not performed strenuously in at least eight years.”

 

After he finished though, he wondered if he should have kept silent. This was the exact thing that has sent everyone else he’s ever been interested in running—being called a freak or a stalker just because he had above average observational skills and an eidetic memory. But Oswald was different, special, and he just smiled, more amused than anything else.

 

“Got it in one,” he said. “My mom taught me when I was young. We couldn’t afford lessons, but she wanted to share dancing with me. She convinced the owner of a dance studio to let her teach part-time, and we got free studio time at night in exchange. She used to dance en-pointe, so that’s what she taught me. Eventually, the owner let me join the normal classes when I got better, but I had trouble with lifts.” Oswald shrugged.

 

“What made you stop?” Ed asked.

 

Oswald made a face. “Dance isn’t exactly what you call a stable and viable profession,” he said. “And I just wasn’t ever going to be good enough to be professional—between my weak ankle, height, and difficulty with lifts,” Oswald said, nonchalant.

 

Ed must have been making a face in return because Oswald laughed and kissed him, as though Ed needed comfort.

 

“I still dance on occasion. The dance studio near the club has been convinced,” and Oswald’s smirk here was knee-weakening, “to give me a key. I go at night sometimes. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”

 

Ed tried not to look overeager and likely failed when he grabbed Oswald’s hand in both of his. “I would very much like that. I have no doubt you are amazing.”

 

Oswald’s reply was cut off as the lights flickered and then dimmed, the din of chatter quietening rapidly as the curtains started to part, and the orchestra began a soft melody. Instead, he rearranged their hands, so they were laced together and crossed his legs, leaning his weight into Ed’s side.

 

Ed knew this had been the right choice as he split his time between watching Oswald and the stunning display of athleticism. His delight at the dancers was evident, the way he’d lean forward during a particularly spectacular solo or how he’d hold his breath for long seconds during others.

 

They took their time leaving the opera house when the lights were brought back on, lingering in their seats to wait out the initial rush. Ed had budgeted an appropriate amount of time to make it to their reservation and was therefore happy to linger and let Oswald gush about the performance, enjoying listening to how a dancer, even a casual one, viewed such a show.

 

“How about you, Ed?” Oswald asked finally as they walked leisurely to Ed’s car, arm in arm. “You know so much about me, what does a forensic pathologist like to do besides cook and watch documentaries about murder? Bagpipes? Taxidermy?” Oswald teased, tongue poking out behind his teeth endearingly.

 

“I play the piano,” Ed said, trying not to get distracted, “with passable talent. I can also sing.” It wasn’t a skill Ed generally advertised, but it was something he enjoyed doing on some evenings, playing along with an old record and singing along while he cooked.

 

“Can you now?” Oswald said, intrigued, as Ed opened the car door for his date. He waited until Ed had entered to driver’s seat before continuing, his bouquet resting across his lap and one hand playing with a large iris petal. “The community center had an out of tune piano, so I taught myself a little when I was younger, but I’m not good enough to say I can actually play.” He smiled, shy and hopeful. “You’ll have to play and sing for me then, in exchange for a dance.”

 

Ed felt a flutter in his chest, blooming up and his face heating. He didn’t understand this man, didn’t understand how he could make him feel so flustered and warm and jittery. Before he realized it, he had gripped one of Oswald’s hands and brought it up to kiss his knuckles. “It’s a deal,” he said, his voice rough and low, full of promise.

 

Oswald stuttered and blushed at the display, avoiding Ed’s eyes but not pulling his hand away, making Ed give himself an internal grin of satisfaction.

 

“What can you never eat for breakfast or lunch?” he asked, seemingly apropos of nothing.

 

Oswald furrowed his brows, confused for a second, before realizing the car had stopped in front of the restaurant. Then he rolled his eyes and gave Ed a look, fond. “Dinner.”

 

“Bingo,” Ed said and leaned over to give another kiss. Kissing Oswald was addicting, even the quick pecks that were quickly becoming a habit. He hurried out of his door to open Oswald’s, offering a hand to the man to help him out.

 

Ed has chosen a French restaurant that he had been reliably informed—aka overheard—was an ideal spot for a romantic date. Ed and Oswald were not out of place, either, in their full suits, and the place was in full swing despite the later hour. Remembering Oswald’s reaction on their last date, Ed made sure to pull out the man’s chair for him, puffing up at his subtle enjoyment at the act.

 

Oswald, to Ed’s delight, spoke passable French that he also, apparently, taught himself. Ed was becoming acquainted with feeling like he could spend a lifetime pulling back the layers of the man and never have an answer. They spent a few enjoyable minutes with Ed correcting some of Oswald’s pronunciation from the menu before the waiter finally arrived.

 

Oswald asked Ed to choose the wine, and he ordered them a bottle that would pair well with both his coq au vin and Oswald’s filet mignon—a 2009 Domaines Des Perdrix. He had always enjoyed the subtly and art of wines, the blend of tastes and undertones just another puzzle to be solved.

 

They laughed together as Ed coerced Oswald to try a bite of escargot, his heart stopping at the sound Oswald made when the taste of lemon and garlic hit his palate. Dinner conversation was lively, and Ed managed to restrain himself and only asked two riddles. They decided to share a creme brulee for dessert, topped with an artfully sliced strawberry and an arrangement of raspberries, and Ed couldn’t help watch Oswald’s tongue as licked the heavy cream and sugar from the silver spoon.

 

It was only when Oswald shot him a dirty look that he realized the tease was doing it on purpose, and he had to suppress a growl and the urge to pull him over the table to show him what he could be using that tongue for instead. Instead, he distracted himself by discussing how he enjoyed making his own creme brulee, and that this one was quite delicious, but he preferred his own.

 

“Well,” Oswald said, still practically fellating the spoon in public. “You’ll have to make it for me next time.”

 

Ed couldn’t identify the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought—at the idea that Oswald was planning for them to have a _next time_ at all.

 

By the time they made it back to Ed’s car, the man wanted nothing more than the press Oswald up against him and ravage him. Instead, he offered to drive Oswald home, trying to suppress his newly awakened and demanding libido. When they finally arrived at the complex that Oswald had shyly admitted he shared with his mother, he shifted into park and turned to face his date, unsure of what to do next.

 

“I had a really nice time tonight,” Oswald said, instead of getting out. “And I’m not working Saturday afternoon. Lunch?”

 

“Of course,” Ed said, voice harsh and mouth dry. “I’ll pick you up.”

 

“It’s a date then,” Oswald said as he leaned forward, one hand resting over Ed’s hand where it hadn’t left the gear shift.

 

The kiss was soft, even as they rolled their tongues together. Ed’s raised a hand to cup his cheek even as his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of their lips together. Oswald tasted like sugar and nicotine, and his hair smelled like lavender. His lips were smooth against his own, and the familiar feeling of his tongue as they pressed and pulled together was heady and addictive. He felt a hard grip on his shoulder, and he moaned as he tilted his head to get better access to his mouth. They parted for the barest second to catch their breaths before plunging back in, mouths hot and eager as they kissed, little noises of pleasure blending into the sound of their breathing.

 

Steadily, the kisses grew harder, needier, and Ed found himself with one hand gripping Oswald’s hair as he plundered his mouth, nips becoming harder bites, and the need to own this man sending a hot vein of arousal through him. Before he knew it, Oswald had climbed into his lap in the driver’s seat, pushing the seat back as far as it was able to accommodate them both as they kissed and ground up and against each other.

 

They both struggled out of their jackets, both being tossed hastily in the back seat that was soon followed by their ties. Ed was sucking on the still healing bruises along Oswald’s shoulder as his fingers raced to unbutton his vest and shirt, distracted by the little sounds his partner made and the gentle rock of their hips together. He finally succeeded in his endeavor, pushing both articles of clothing off Oswald’s shoulders and giving a frustrated grunt when they caught on his wrists.

 

Oswald giggled and then helped him undo his cufflinks before the giggle became a moan when Ed bit down gently on a raised nipple, soothing it with the soft lap of his tongue. Oswald pushed Ed’s dress shirt open as far as he could, not willing to part from him long enough to remove it. Instead, he traced his nails down his abs, soft and undefined, before lingering at the edge of his trousers. He dipped his nails below the band of his underwear, teasing, and grinning as Ed threw his head back, mouth open in want.

 

“Oswald,” he said, voice almost begging as he tried to thrust up into the touch only to be pinned by his hips. In retaliation, he grabbed Oswald’s ass, kneading the plush mounds to rock themselves together, internally grinning when he heard the hitch of his breath.

 

Oswald raked his nails along Ed’s pelvis, the sharp pinpoint scratches sending more blood south. He felt Oswald remove his hand, impatient now, to hastily remove the belt, fingers working quickly to unbutton his pants. The sound reminded Ed that his partner was similarly overdressed, and he reached around the tangle of limbs to do the same, hands shaking in anticipation as he tried to undo Oswald’s pants while also rubbing his palm against the growing bulge, distracting him with a self-satisfied grin.

 

Oswald paused in his pursuit, fingers frozen in the act of unbuttoning the first button as he pressed his forehead against Ed’s shoulder as he tried to focus around Ed’s teasing pressure. Ed took advantage of their position, latching his mouth onto his neck and licking, tracing nonsensical patterns into the smooth skin and nibbling gently in time as he rubbed Oswald through his pants.

 

“Ed,” Oswald rasped into his shoulder. “I can’t focus when you, you, are—” he broke up into a ragged moan when Ed took the opportunity to squeeze him harder just as he finished pulling down the zipper.

 

Ed nudged Oswald’s head up so they could kiss, tongues a mess and lips bumping and uncoordinated. “That’s the point,” Ed whispered into his lips before biting at his lower lip lightly. His hand was slipping down beneath his briefs, palm flat against his pelvis, so only the back of his knuckles brushing against the hard shaft and making Oswald groan, wanting, and hips jerking.

 

Ed let him, grinding their erections together through their clothes. Finally tired of teasing, he wrapped his long fingers around Oswald, thumb brushing against the tip to coat his finger in pre-come. He rubbed the palm of his other hand over the head, wetting it as best he could, before starting a slow pace, letting the hard cock glide through his hands with just enough pressure to be unsatisfying.

 

Oswald whined his name, his task long forgotten as he wrapped his arms around Ed’s shoulders and tried to chase his own pleasure. He mouthed at his neck for lack of anything else to do, teeth worrying at a single spot, tongue twisting to taste skin and driving Ed crazy. His own erection was getting painful, still trapped in his pants, but he ignored it in favor of turning Oswald into a puddle of incoherent mush.

 

Both of them jerked, knocked out of their tangle of lust and passion and pleasure by the sharp trill ring of Oswald’s phone.

 

Oswald whined, heady and annoyed and so desperate. He pulled away from Ed, eyes still clouded and glazed with lust as he clumsily tried to reach into the back seat.

 

“Leave it,” Ed said, tightening his grip and giving a twist of his wrist around the head that made Oswald shudder.

 

“Fuck, Ed,” Oswald said, managing to nab his jacket and digging with shaking hands for the infernal device. “I can’t, it’s my boss, fuck,” he said, leaning his head against Ed’s shoulder again to try and calm himself even as Ed did his best to distract him. The phone kept ringing, loud and obnoxious.

 

Oswald kissed him. “Just give me a moment, okay? I, fuck, I gotta answer.” He didn’t look like he wanted to either, but Ed obediently removed his hand, choosing instead to nibble at Oswald’s neck again, raking his nails up and down his back as he rolled his hips up in promise.

 

“Ms. Mooney,” Oswald said into the phone, and Ed was impressed by how steady his voice was. He would have never known that he had been in the middle of a handjob and was currently in the lap of a man who very much wanted to fuck him.

 

Ed didn’t pay attention to the reply, just hummed as he bit down a little harder on an existing bruise and one hand slipping down the back of Oswald’s pants to massage one round cheek.

 

“Yes, Ms. Mooney,” Oswald said, and Ed couldn’t be but notice how different Oswald sounded, all submissive and adoring, not at all like how he was when he spoke with Ed even during sex. Oswald’s sexual submission was something entirely different than this—full of want and knowing exactly what he needed as opposed to this meekness, this tone that was full of a desperate need to please. Ed didn’t think he liked it.

 

Ed slipped a finger to trace along the crack of Oswald’s ass, toying with his hole, teasing the edges with the blunt end of his finger. He knew Oswald was holding back, could feel the way his cock twitched against his thigh and the way his eyes slid shut, trying to maintain his calm.

 

“Of course, Ms. Mooney. I will be there right away,” Oswald said, voice still steady as though he was sitting and drinking a cup of coffee in his apartment. He slapped the phone shut and moaned loudly, pushing himself back against Ed’s hand as he slammed their lips together.

 

This kiss was punishing, more teeth than tongue, and Ed retaliated by slipping the tip of a dry finger into Oswald.

 

“Ed,” Oswald whined, needy. “I would love, absolutely love, to finish this. But I have to go to work—they are short-handed.”

 

Ed ignored him, just slipping a hand back into his pants to stroke Oswald in long slow strokes as he thrust his finger in and out, promising.

 

“Ed,” Oswald said again, elongating his name and begging, pleading but resigned. “Fuck, I want to finish this, but I really, really have to go.” He kissed Ed, soft, this time, and apologetic as he swung himself off his lap and back into the passenger seat.

 

“Eight minutes,” Ed said, leaning over to give him another—another!—kiss. “If I drop you off, we have eight minutes, taking into account that the bus route at this time is usually running four minutes late and that it would take you approximately nine minutes to change clothes upstairs.” He reached down to stroke Oswald again, both hands finally freeing him from his underwear. “Which will get you to the club twenty-four minutes from that phone call and exactly the average amount of time it would normally take you to change into your uniform and take public transportation.”

 

He looked at Oswald for permission, hand hovering over his still raging hard-on, half-dazed, before Oswald nodded, sucking in a sharp breath.

 

Ed took Oswald into his mouth, ignoring the way his back and neck ached at this angle and ignoring finesse, ignored the teasing. He just worked on lathering his tongue at the sensitive points, hand working at his balls and the base of his cock in rough movements. It took only three minutes after all the build-up and Ed’s determined attack before Oswald jerked his hips up and came in his mouth. Ed let it fall on his tongue, tasting the bitter-salty fluid, considering. He wanted to test the hypothesis on the diet’s relation to the taste of semen. While it wasn’t a particularly pleasant taste on his tongue, it wasn’t horrible. He swallowed after a moment, licking Oswald’s softening cock clean before tucking him back into his pants.

 

Oswald pulled him up for a kiss, the bitter taste of himself shared between him.

 

“My turn,” Oswald said, still panting but pushing Ed back into the driver’s seat, head already dipping down as his hands hurriedly released his cock from its confines.

 

Oswald’s mouth was amazing, hot and wet and talented. He knew it wouldn’t take long, not when he knew the clock was ticking, and Oswald had the same single-minded goal as Ed had. Ed tangled his head into his hair, feeling Oswald relax his muscles at the touch and give the slightest nod as he tilted his head to look at Ed, giving his consent. Usually, Ed would prefer to have a more clear, verbal consent from him, but given the time constraint, they must make do.

 

Ed thrust his hips up, hand holding onto Oswald’s hair, and mindful to keep track that Oswald wasn’t tapping out. It didn’t take more than a minute of frantic thrusting before he came, releasing Oswald so he could choose how he wished to take Ed’s come. Oswald pulled back the same way Ed had, letting the come land on the center of his tongue, tasting it before swallowing. He gave his softening cock a few kitten licks to clean him before he sat up to kiss Ed. The taste of himself on Oswald’s tongue wasn’t unpleasant, salty and bitter and sweet with the natural taste of Oswald.

 

They parted, both breathing heavy. Ed glanced at the clock. “One minute to spare,” he said with a grin.

 

Oswald laughed, breathless and perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave a comment if you enjoyed! It really gives me motivation to continue. <3


	5. Oswald - Sunday

Oswald wasn’t surprised when he walked into Mooney’s exactly twenty-six minutes after he had hung up. They had lost that gained minute as well as two more with another make-out session in Ed’s car outside of the club, but Oswald considered it time well spent as he hurried up the steps, taking them two at a time. Ms. Mooney did not like to be kept waiting.

He hadn’t known what to make of her call—she rarely called him personally, usually preferring to make Butch or another one of her posse make the call. Oswald hated surprises, and he didn’t know whether the call was a good or bad sign.

He slowed his steps as he reached the top of the stairs, catching the bartender’s eye as he stepped through the door, and a pit dropped into his stomach at the panicked look he got in return. “What is happening?” he asked, ducking behind the bar even as he looked around for Ms. Mooney or Butch.

The bartender gave a quick look around, before pushing a decanter of wine into Oswald’s hands. “Don Falcone was here earlier. He and Ms. Mooney had a conversation, and then Brandon…” he trailed off, looking meaningfully at the corner where one of the staff was scrubbing at a stain. “She’s in her office,” he said in a rush. “She said to send you up as soon as you arrived.”

Oswald didn’t like where this was going. Brandon had been Ms. Mooney's most recent favorite—she enjoyed making him sing for her, and it was presumed that they were sleeping together. Whatever power play the Don had just made meant that Ms. Mooney was in a foul mood.

The bartender handed Oswald a clean cloth and glass and gave him a pitying look that Oswald accepted. He slowly took the steps, balancing the decanter in one hand and the fresh glass in the other, bracing himself for whatever was to come. He paused right before he reached the top, closing his eyes and letting the shroud of the character he was playing fall over him.

“Ms. Mooney?” he called out, voice tentative and soft. “They said you wanted to see me.”

Ms. Mooney was standing, back to Oswald, as she looked out her tinted window to survey the crowd below. His shoulders were stiff, and Oswald took a few steps forward, unsure, setting down the glass and decanter on a side table.

“Oswald,” Ms. Mooney finally said after a pause, his name rolling off her tongue as she turned. She said his name like a spider might speak to a fly caught in her web. “Thank you, my boy, for coming in on the short notice.”

Oswald preened outwardly as he kept his eyes down. “Of course, Ms. Mooney. Whatever you need. I’m happy that you thought of me,” Oswald said in a quiet but pleased tone.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” she said, taking a seat on the couch and patting the spot next to her, signaling Oswald to sit.

“No, nothing important,” he insisted as he sat, careful to make his body as small as possible. “I would have come anyway, of course,” he hurried to add, as though an afterthought.

He didn’t fight it when she scraped a nail under his chin, her fingers firm as she held his face up to look at her.

“You’ve been with me for a long time, haven't you, my little bird?” she asked, turning his face this way and that, a careful inspection that made him uncomfortable.

“Yes, Ms. Mooney. Over five years now.”

“Hm,” Ms. Mooney hummed, not stopping her inspection. She brushed the hair out of his eyes with her other hand. “Well, lucky for you, my little penguin, it appears a new position has opened up.”

“Ms. Mooney?” Oswald said, letting the confusion permeate his voice even as he leaned into her touch.

“I like you, Oswald,” she said in answer. “You’ve got that something special that everyone needs. You are going to be my boy, now, my personal assistant. I think you’ve proved yourself–your last little insight about Nikolai the Russian has proved...invaluable.” She brushed her thumb over his cheek. “And I like to keep my precious things close by.”

Oswald let his eyes flutter shut, as though in pleasure at her words. “Ms. Mooney,” he said, just the right side of breathless. “I won’t let you down, I promise. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” Ms. Mooney said with a sharp smile. “Now, let’s get you out of that uniform. Red never was your color.”

 

* * *

 

Turned out that being Ms. Mooney’s _boy_ basically boiled down to following her everywhere. It also meant that his schedule changed—she wanted to have Oswald with her all day for the most part, which, in any other scenario, would have been perfect.

Except he had to reschedule his date with Ed, and he had been so looking forward to seeing his...boyfriend? Date? Lover?

Oswald blushed, playing with the edges of his phone while he stalled. He had only known the man for a week, but being with him was exhilarating. Anytime he thought about Ed or was with him, he’d feel his heart rate jump, and this knot in his stomach loosen.

Oswald didn’t like to rush things—he always planned every move and every decision. He had to—once he was old enough to work, he had to always be looking out for his mother, which meant meticulous planning on their budgets, plying the best hours out of his bosses, and making sure that he would be indispensable. A misstep would, at best, leave them without power for a few days and at worse, put them on the streets. So Oswald planned, almost to a compulsive level, because the alternative wasn’t an alternative at all.

But with Ed, he wanted nothing more than to just curl up in his arms and stay there. It was a terrifying feeling to know that someone had that much control over him.

Oswald sighed, flopping back down on his bed to stare at the ceiling, tracing the familiar cracks in the paint. No point delaying; he was supposed to meet Ed tomorrow for lunch, and now he had to work.

He flipped open his phone before he could stall any longer, scrolling through his contacts until he found the correct one. He listened to the phone ring twice before the familiar, upbeat voice answered.

“Oswald!” Ed said, voice tinny over the small speakers but still full of delight. Oswald could almost picture the broad grin on his handsome face.

“Hi, Ed,” Oswald said, not able to hide his own smile even though no one was around. “I’m just calling because I’m going to need to reschedule our date tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Ed said, concern outweighing the disappointment in his voice. “Is everything all right? How was everything at work last night?”

“Yes,” Oswald said, reassuring Ed. “Everything’s fine. It was actually a good thing–Ms. Mooney promoted me to be her personal assistant.” Along with everything that implied. “But that means my work schedule has become a little more unpredictable.”

“Well, congratulation,” Ed said. “Though I will admit that I was looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too,” Oswald said, “but are you free Sunday afternoon instead? We could still grab lunch, and I was thinking, maybe, going to the zoo?” he suggested tentatively. He loved the zoo, however childish of an outing it may be, and he couldn’t think of any other potential date locations. The museum, maybe?

“Yes!” Ed agreed cheerily. “I’m free on Sunday. How does eleven sound? Where should we meet? Do you want me to pick you up?”

Oswald laughed into the phone, the barrage of questions endearing more than annoying to him now. “Eleven is fine, and yes, I’d love it if you could pick me up.” Oswald rolled over onto his stomach, tucking his pillow under his chin as he shifted the phone to the other ear. “So, what are you doing today?”

“We had a fascinating case come in, actually,” Ed said. Oswald could hear something clanging faintly in the background. “Three bodies were found in an apartment by the university. All unrelated, all different ages, and all different causes of death but found in the same room.”

Oswald wondered if Ed was supposed to be talking about this to him, but it was (probably) fine. Didn’t sound like a Falcone hit, so Oswald wasn’t placed in the awkward situation of pretending he didn’t know anything. They had been neatly side-stepping the blaring elephant in the room that labeled Oswald a gangster mostly by ignoring it. Ed had mentioned that he didn’t care, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t if he actually knew how much blood was on his hands.

The hours passed quickly until Oswald noticed the time. He cursed quietly, stopping Ed in the middle of a ramble regarding a completely, horrendously, factually inaccurate mystery novel he had read.

“Oswald?” Ed said, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” Oswald said, sitting up to stretch. “I just noticed that we’ve been talking for two hours, and promised my mother I’d help her with dinner tonight. She probably thinks I’ve been napping.”

“Oh, well, I’ll let you go,” Ed said. “But, I’ll see you Sunday?” His voice lilted downward, as though needing verification of their date. Ed, for how damn attractive the man was, had shockingly low self-esteem he was learning.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” Oswald confirmed. “Bye, Ed.”

“Bye, Oswald,” Ed said.

Oswald pulled the phone away from his ear, oddly reluctant to end the call against all logic. He finally forced himself to slap the phone shut, cursing himself for acting like a giddy teenager.

“Fuck,” Oswald said, burying his face into his pillow. He was so screwed.

 

* * *

 

Oswald waited outside his apartment building just before eleven in the morning, trying not to fiddle with the hem of his sleeves. He wished he had nicer clothes to wear, but with the turn toward slightly colder weather, he was left with few options for outerwear. He dreamed of the potential future where he could lavish himself and his mother in fine clothing, but the reality was that he was lucky to make enough working under Ms. Mooney to afford their apartment. Even so, he had been considering before his recent promotion to pick up a second job with the hopes that his mother would be able to quit her shift at the diner.

One day, Oswald would be able to treat his mother to every luxury she deserved, but in the meantime, Oswald would have to be content with cheap, generic clothing or lucky finds at the thrift store.

He was wearing such a lucky find now, the thick woolen peacoat that he tossed over his slacks and t-shirt. It was a little long on the sleeves and was pilling in some areas but was overall a decent fit. Oswald hated to be seen in clothing that wasn’t suitable–clothes were vital to first impressions, and even though this was far from a first impression, he wanted to look...nice for Ed. The thought almost made him blush, and he cursed himself for thinking that.

Oswald nervously rechecked the time–Ed had never been late, or even on-time. That man was the poster child for being early, but he couldn’t help but fidget. He liked Ed, probably way too much for the short time they had known each other. His heart had always been his weakness, and he tended to give it away too easily.

But Ed was different than the other men Oswald had dated. And he was using the term _dated_ , loosely. They had never taken him for nice dinners or brought him flowers—he was used to quick drinks at a shady bar and then a fast fuck in the backseat of a car. They had never wanted to hold his hand as they walked down the street–whether they were ashamed of themselves or him, Oswald never knew.

Oswald was brought out of his gloomy thoughts by the arrival of a familiar light green Nova that would have been garish for most men, but Oswald found suited Ed.

“Hey, there cutie,” Oswald said, bending down to peak into the window with a teasing smile. “Looking for a date?”

Ed blushed but smiled in return. “I thought I already had one,” he said, eyes downcast as though shy.

Oswald laughed, opening the door to slide into the passenger seat. He leaned over the center console to give Ed a kiss. He had intended it to be a light, chaste kiss, but couldn’t help himself as he drew nearer, instead pulling Ed into a long, open-mouthed kiss that left them both panting.

“Oh,” Ed said faintly, glasses skewed.

Oswald suppressed a giggle and left a peck on Ed’s nose. “Just saying hello.”

Ed cleared his throat, stammering. “Well, it was a very nice hello. Um, where are we going?”

Oswald fiddled with his hem again. “Well, I figured we could head straight to the zoo and grab food there? Unless you were hungry now, that is.” God, Oswald felt like a mess. Just being around cute boys tended to make him lose his mind, and he really, really wanted Ed to have a good time.

Ed smiled, and Oswald loved how his eyes crinkled when he did so. “Rightie-o,” he said. “Gotham Zoo, it is.”

 

* * *

 

The zoo ended up being a fantastic idea. The cold weather ended up being a blessing in disguise, as most families had chosen to forgo outdoor activities due to the chill. So Oswald and Ed had the majority of the exhibits to themselves, and the cold gave Oswald an excuse to hang off Ed’s arm and snuggle closer.

Not that he would have really needed an excuse, Oswald was discovering. Ed practically glowed whenever Oswald reached for his hand or settled his hand into the crook of his elbow.

“So,” Ed asked as he looked at the brightly colored map showing each of the exhibits. “What did you want to see first? I haven’t actually been here before.”

Oswald hummed, trying to look at the map over Ed’s arm. “My mother used to take me a lot when I was younger,” he said. “It was a cheap way to spend the entire day, and I really loved the bird exhibits.” Oswald pointed to one corner of the map that showed the aviaries.

“Do you have a favorite bird?” Ed asked, taking one last look at the map before storing it in his pocket. He tentatively grabbed Oswald’s hand and led him down one of the paths, presumably toward the bird exhibits. Oswald didn’t really care—he had practically grown up at this zoo and had seen everything at least half a dozen times.

Oswald hesitated to answer. It wasn’t an easy question anymore. “My favorite used to be penguins,” he revealed, “but nowadays, I don’t know.” He shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

“Oh, penguins! Did you know that there are seventeen species of penguins but, despite how media may portray them, only four species are suited for cold weather?” Ed said, oblivious to Oswald’s change in mood.

“Actually, I did know that,” Oswald said, swinging their hands as they walked.

“Oh,” Ed said, “I guess you would since they are your favorite.” Far from disappointed that Oswald knew his factoid, Ed just seemed more eager.

“ _Were_ my favorite,” Oswald corrected.

“Why don’t you like them anymore?” Ed asked, confused, as though changing preference in favorite avian species was unusual.

Oswald tried to shrug. “It’s just a cruel joke, but the guys at work gave me a nickname–Penguin.” He tried not to sound bitter. “Kind of takes the joy out of it.”

“Oh, is it because you are cute like a penguin?” Ed said, brightening. “Because you are. Did you also know that penguins have a special gland that filters salt out of their bloodstream?”

Oswald gave Ed a look, not sure why he was surprised. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m short and have a pointy nose, and my favorite food is tuna.” Ah, and there was the bitterness.

Ed went silent, and Oswald cursed himself for ruining the mood. “Sorry, Ed,” Oswald said, pumping his shoulder gently against the other man’s. “It’s just a sore spot.”

Ed shook his head. “No, I know how people can be cruel, but I think penguins are fascinating. And you are fascinating. And cute. And I love your nose. And I wish I could do something about anyone who has ever told you differently.”

Oswald flushed, unsure how to respond because no one other than his mother had defended him so vehemently before. He huddled closer to Ed, trying to bury his red face against Ed’s chest.

“Oh,” Ed said, “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t— I mean, I’m being too forward and—”

Oswald cut him off with a kiss, still burning bright red. “Thank you, Ed.”

Ed looked at Oswald, eyes wide and honest and the warmest shade of brown. He brushed a lock of hair out of Oswald’s eyes, cupping his face so gently, tenderly, that Oswald felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. “I think you are the most beautiful person I have ever met, Oswald,” Ed said, and his voice was so genuine that Oswald had to blink back tears. “And I hope that you know that.”

Oswald shook his head, trying to shake off the pure onslaught of emotions that threatened to overcome him. So, he smiled up at Ed, huddling closer and burying his face into the soft fabric of Ed’s sweater. “You are amazing, Edward Nygma,” he finally said, his voice thick with emotions. “What ever did I do that brought you to me?”

Now it was Ed’s turn to blush. “Maybe it was fate.”

Oswald looked up at him, eyes shining. “Maybe it was.”

 

* * *

 

They did make it to the aviary eventually, their conversation a little stilted after their uncharacteristic display of emotions. This was uncharted territory for him–no one had ever made Oswald feel like this, made his heart hammer and chest want to just burst.

But it didn’t take long for Ed to be distracted again, passing by enclosures and steadfastly reading the little educational plaques at every opportunity. Oswald was amazed by him–where did he keep all this information?

After many, _many_ side excursions, they finally made it to the sky-high cages, and Oswald couldn’t contain his own excitement. Even after all these years, he loved watching the birds. He dragged Ed over to where a peregrine falcon was perched on a zookeeper’s arm while she gave a lecture to a small crowd of bystanders before leading him over to the flamingo enclosure.

Oswald leaned on the railing to watch the birds, enjoying the slow, methodical way they moved. He had always been amused by their trademark single-legged stance and had once, memorably, tried to mimic it to make his mother laugh. Ed had wandered to read the nearby sign, studying the brightly colored text and pictures with his usual intensity.

“So these are a mix of American flamingos,” Ed said, returning to Oswald as he pointed to a bright, almost raspberry-colored bird, “and Andean flamingos,” gesturing to the smaller, almost baby pink birds.

Oswald grinned up at him. “No other flamingo facts you wanted to dazzle me with?” he teased.

“Well, did you know that flamingos are naturally a light gray? They get their distinct pink color from beta carotene, which is found in their diet of algae, larvae, and brine shrimp,” Ed recited dutifully, happy to oblige. “Zoo raised flamingos may revert to their natural coloration unless their food has the necessary pigmentation artificially added.” He stopped, finally looking down at Oswald's fond expression. “Oh,” he said, suddenly looking unsure. “You weren’t being serious, were you?”

Oswald pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No, but you are cute when you talk.” He pushed off the railing, reaching automatically for Ed’s hand. “Come in, let’s check out Lory Landing. It’s one of my favorites.”

Oswald pulled Ed toward the large enclosure. It had been one of the highlights of each of his visits, especially when his mother would have a few spare dollars so he could feed the birds himself. Now, though, Oswald happily swapped a ten-dollar bill for five small plastic containers of nectar.

“What are those for?” Ed asked, curious as they ducked through the long strips of plastic that blocked the entrance.

“What? You mean you don’t know?” Oswald teased coyly, only laughing again at Ed’s pout. He was laughing so often nowadays that his cheeks were beginning to hurt. “Lorikeets eat nectar, so they let you feed them. It’s really cool—the birds have learned how to open the tops and everything. Here look.” Oswald held out a hand, the small plastic cup held between his pointer finger and thumb toward a bright rainbow-colored bird perched in the nearby fence. The bird cocked its head before hopping readily onto Oswald’s hand.

Oswald giggled at the feeling of its small claws against his finger, loving watching the bird as it used its beak to lever off the plastic lid and drink eagerly at the offered nectar.

Oswald offered two of the remaining cups to Ed. “You try.”

Ed copied Oswald’s movements, and before long, the two were acting like school kids, cooing and giggling over the small swarm of birds that flocked to them. One settled itself in Oswald’s hair, pecking and nesting at the strands as it happily settled itself in its new roost. Another had made itself comfortable on Ed’s shoulder, curiously pecking at the frame of his glasses in a way that made Oswald laugh at the disgruntled sight of Ed trying, in vain, to get the bird to find another object of fascination.

“You really like birds, don’t you?” Ed asked, running two fingers down the back of the lory perched on Oswald’s forearm. The bird rubbed its head against Ed’s fingers in return, enjoying the petting.

Oswald shrugged. “You know how some kids go through a phase where they are obsessed with dinosaurs or space? Well, that was me with birds. My mother even found me a used copy of The Complete Illustrated Encyclopedia of Birds of the World for my tenth birthday.” He stopped to give one lory a scratch on the neck, smiling at the way it craned its neck in pleasure. “I am pretty sure I still have half that thing memorized. I think if I had gone to college, I’d have liked to study ornithology.”

Oswald looked up to look at Ed, caught off guard by the look in his eyes. “What? Did a bird poop on me?” He checked his arms, carefully patting his hair only to be rewarded with a squeak and a nip to his fingers for interrupting the lorikeet’s newest nest.

Ed shook his head. “No, thinking about how amazing you are,” he said, and then stopped, blushing as though not realizing he had said that aloud. He cleared his throat. “I mean, birds suit you. They are beautiful and free, eye-catching.”

Oswald ducked his head. “Hush,” he said.

Ed just smiled, offering his finger to the bird perched on Oswald’s forearm. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I will.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed quickly after they left the aviaries. Oswald learned that Ed tended to favor reptiles over mammals based on his lingering interest, and they spent a few minutes playing with the large python that a zookeeper draped over their shoulders. Ed got distracted discussing the merits of feeding snakes live versus frozen mice, and Oswald almost had to physically drag him away. They shared a quick meal at one of the restaurants, both of them picking at the mediocre food and mostly distracted with conversation.

The sun was just barely starting to dip when they finally were winding down, both of their feet aching from the long day of walking when Oswald caught sight of something out of his eye and was struck with a moment of inspiration, a fleeting fancy.

“Wait here,” he told Ed before he darted into the gift shop, ignoring the momentarily look of startled confusion on his date’s face. He found what he was looking for quickly, skimming through the racks to find the perfect one.

He returned to Ed, suddenly shy about his newest acquisition. He bit his lip and held out his hand. “Can I see your cell phone?”

Ed cocked his head, but acquiesced, petting the small flip phone in Oswald’s palm. Oswald turned it in his hand, happy that it had the little crevice he needed, and quickly threaded his gift through.

“Ta da,” he said, handing Ed back his cell phone, now with a baby blue chord attached that ended at a small, metal penguin charm. “A penguin,” he said, heart beating fast. “So you can think of me when you see it.”

The silence stretched as Ed stared at his phone, his fingers wrapped around the small little bobble at the end with an unspeakable look on his face.

“Ed?” Oswald said, heart dropping. Had it been too much? They had only known each other a week.

But the smile he got from Ed was...god, Oswald couldn’t even put it into words. It was like the sun had come out after a storm or–or–

The kiss Ed gave him was the softest kiss Oswald had ever received, the barest press of his lips, the slightest hint of tongue, and it stole Oswald’s breath away.

“Thank you, Oswald,” Ed said, eyes shining, “I’ll treasure it forever.”

Oh.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that _Redacted_ is complete, I can focus on my other projects! So, after a loooong break, have some fluff! This is definitely the fluffiest thing I have ever written ever, and there will be more fluff. But also more porn. Porn and fluff. <3
> 
> As always, feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](https://chierei.tumblr.com) or come scream about Nygmobblepot with me at our [Discord](https://discord.gg/yXg9WMP).
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed, please take a moment to let me know what you thought! Comments always make my day, and I love hearing what you enjoyed. I get a lot of inspiration from comments. <33


	6. Edward - Friday

Ed had long learned that looking too happy while staring down at a dead body was considered “freaky,” but there wasn’t a chance that he would be able to hide his good mood when he came into work that morning. He hummed a tune as he measured the depth of the stab wound with a long ruler, making notes on paper as he continued his observations with a grin, mind rerunning through the _magnificent_ weekend he had.

“Nygma!” Detective Bullock barked out, shaking Ed out of his rhythm. The detective had a bad habit of storming into the morgue without warning, and today was no exception.

Ed adjusted his glasses, glad in hindsight that he had used his clean hand and not the one covered in the victim’s blood. “Detective,” Ed said, greeting him with a little wave. “What can I do for you?”

Detective Bullock rolled his eyes, body language full of his typical rough bluster. “Cause of death on our John Doe?” he asked, tone sharp and testy.

“Oh, yes,” Ed said, grinning and excited to show off his findings. “As we thought, the stab wound and amputation were done postmortem.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Detective Bullock groused, waving his hand in a show of impatience. “So, what killed him? And who the fuck takes an arm after the fact?”

“It's actually quite fascinating. Did you know that amputation—” Ed started to say, only to be cut off.

“Nygma!” Detective Bullock growled, his lips turned down in a frown as he glared at Ed from under the brim of his hat.

Usually, the tone would have made Ed wilt, but he was still riding on his personal high and couldn’t care enough to let it bring him down. “Cardiac arrest,” Ed said, holding out to the detective his preliminary report. “Our John Doe died of a heart attack.”

Detective Bullock grabbed the offered file with a huff, practically tearing it out of Ed’s hands. “What?” he said, opening the file to flip through the pages.

“No history or signs of heart disease. Your John Doe had the health of an averagely fit and healthy man in his thirties,” Ed chirped. “No signs of a needle puncture, but there is a possibility that the injection was made on the missing arm.”

“Drugs?” the detective asked as he continued to flip through the notes.

“Waiting on the lab results,” Ed said.

“I need those reports ASAP,” Detective Bullock said, tossing the folder back at Ed.

Ed fumbled as he tried to catch the folder and keep it from falling to the floor and scattering the papers everywhere. “Okie—” the door slammed shut behind at the detective, “Dokie,” Ed finished to the empty room, folder clutched to his chest The itch, the angry itch, was returning, the burn deep in his chest that made his hands tighten on the papers, crinkling the edges.

But then he heard the familiar chime of his phone and the cold, ugly feeling evaporated, banished back into the depths of his head at the thought of Oswald.

_> > Lunch today?_

Ed grinned, looking down at the small screen and the dark pixels spelling out the two words that were proof that someone cared about him, someone _liked_ him. And not just any someone, but someone as amazing as Oswald. He hurriedly typed out a response.

_< < Yes! I can meet you at 12?_

_> > Thai food?_

Ed did the quick calculation in his head. If he left for lunch five minutes early—something he never did but would likely not be noticed—he would be able to catch the bus the few extra blocks to the restaurant.

_< < Perfect. I'll see you then. <3_

Ed paused, looking at the little heart he automatically typed out. He shook his head, breaking himself out of his trance and carefully hit the _backspace_ key, deleting the two symbols before pressing send. He set the phone out on the counter, trying not to stare at it as he waited for an answer, and busied himself with finishing his inspection of the body.

Only an hour until his lunch break now, he told himself. Just an hour.

 

* * *

 

They fell into a comfortable pattern. The two of them would meet for lunch two or three times a week or, on the rare occasion that Oswald was up early, a quick coffee date as Oswald walked Ed work. Oswald’s schedule was erratic and primarily focused around the nighttime hours, but Ed was happy with whatever time he could have even if it were for a quick bite at lunch or barely enough time to sneak into a movie theater on a Sunday morning.

And Ed…

Ed didn't know that he could be this happy. Oswald was sweet and funny and beautiful and somehow looked at Ed like he was something special, something worth keeping. Just the thought of the other man made Ed’s heart rate spike, and being with him was...quiet. It was as if being around the other man created a shield against all of the nasty whispers and doubts that usually followed Ed every moment of his life. Oswald brought him a peace he didn't know he could have.

Which is why he was fretting over the decadent roast that was slowly cooking in the oven. Ed may have gone slightly overboard on cooking—between the lush green beans and mashed potatoes and the rich chocolate cake waiting in the fridge along with the three different wine varieties—but he and Oswald hadn't had a full evening together since the ballet over two weeks prior. Their...physical intimacies had been made up of hurried encounters in Ed’s car, make-out sessions in the park, or, on one memorable afternoon, a quick fuck in a public restroom.

_(And Ed tried not to get distracted at the memory of Oswald on his knees, mouthing at Ed’s zipper as he palmed himself, at the image of Oswald bent over at the waist as he let Ed plow into him and the loud, breathy moans and—)_

But Oswald was finally able to get a Friday evening off. Based on the spike of gang-related cases and homicides this last week at the GCPD, he assumed that the Falcone-Maroni negotiations for a ceasefire were occurring this very evening; it was the only reason that FIsh Mooney wouldn’t have wanted Oswald on her heels.

Ed was finishing crisping bacon for the green beans when he heard the knock, a simple three-beat pattern. He removed the pan from the heat, wiping his hands on a dry rag before hurrying to open the door.

“Oswald,” he greeted, the warmth in his voice readily evident. His grin only got wider at the sight of the bouquet that Oswald held in front of him. “Are those for me?” he asked as he stepped aside and gestured Oswald to enter.

Ed took a moment to appreciate the tight navy sweater that hugged his body and the slim cut of his jeans that accentuated his backside. The hurried nature of their dates usually meant he saw Oswald in some truly astounding three-piece suits that made him look every inch of a gentleman. And while he loved how Oswald looked in a suit, there was something softer, more intimate, in seeing him dressed down like this.

“No, they are for my other date,” Oswald said with a playful huff even as he handed over the flowers—roses, carnations, alstroemeria, athos poms, monte casino salal and gypsophila, all in shades of green to Ed’s delight. He leaned up to give Ed a quick kiss that Ed quickly took control over, licking at the seam of Oswald’s lip as he wrapped his free arm around the smaller man’s waist.

Ed finally pulled back, and it could have been a minute or an hour later, breathless and a little dazed. He dipped his head again down for another kiss, unable to help it when he was so close to those inviting lips, but kept this one chaste and quick. “Thank you for the flowers,” he said, the words barely a whisper against his skin.

Oswald blushed, and Ed loved how the pink tinge made his freckles stand out a little more. He did love how Oswald looked when he was all made-up, but he sometimes missed seeing the fresh-faced and natural charm he had gotten a glimpse of that first morning.

Ed found a large beaker that he filled with tap water, setting the bouquet into the makeshift vase and then attempting to arrange the blooms into an aesthetically pleasing arrangement. “You came at the perfect time. I was just finishing the sides. Would you like a glass of wine to start?” Ed furrowed his brows, turning the vase this way and that. Flower arranging had never been a skill he had excelled at.

“Here, let me,” Oswald said, bumping his hip against Ed’s to take over the arrangement. “You finish cooking.”

Ed dropped a kiss to his cheek, happily ceding the duty to Oswald. He pulled out the two small beakers that he used as wine glasses, deciding to start with the 1981 Château D'Issan. He set Oswald’s glass down next to him before returning to the stove. “I wasn’t aware flower arrangements were in your skillset,” he started conversationally as he began to scrape the cooking meat around the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon, the smell of fatty pork wafting alluring throughout the kitchen

Oswald spun the makeshift vase around, a bloom tucked in his hand as he looked for the best spot. “My mother taught me,” he said. “And I worked part-time at a florist for a while, and they’d let me take any damaged or old flowers they couldn’t sell.” He tucked the flower back into the bouquet. “I got good at hiding imperfections.”

Oswald gave the arrangement one last look before seeming satisfied. He finally took up the glass of wine that he sipped with visible relish.

“Long day?” Ed asked at Oswald’s look of almost-bliss. He had started plating their meal, bending down to take out the potatoes from the warmer.

“Long week,” Oswald corrected after he had almost drained half of his glass.

“I deduced,” Ed said as he finished spooning a helping of potatoes onto each of the plates. “We’ve had an influx of bodies this week,” Ed said as he carefully started to carve the roast, his attention divided as he confirmed that the meat was cooked to a perfect medium-rare.

The silence stretched, and it was only as Ed was setting the slices onto their otherwise finished plates that he noticed the lack of response. “Did I say something wrong?” He furrowed his brows, concerned. Social cues were still sometimes lost on him, and Oswald hadn’t had an issue with it before, but Ed was always afraid of accidentally stepping over a line he didn’t know existed.

Oswald was giving him a look that made Ed want to fidget. The moment felt like it lasted forever, even though Ed was aware that is was more than likely only seconds before Oswald shook his head. “No,” he said to Ed’s great relief, “I’m just not used to such easy acceptance from someone who isn’t on either Don’s payroll.” He grabbed both of their glasses and the half-empty bottle as he spoke, following Ed to the table. He set everything down before taking his seat opposite of Ed.

Ed gave a half-shrug, unsure what to say. “I have always had an unusual affinity for topics that most deem unacceptable,” he said, opting for the truth. It had ostracized him for most of his life, and he had, for the most part, accepted being an outsider.

“Well, I’m glad for that,” Oswald said softly, reaching across the table to hold onto Ed’s hand. There was a moment of silence, a moment of pure contentedness of knowing that they had each found their match. Ed squeezed Oswald’s hand, trying to tamp down on the heat that he could feel creeping to his cheeks, and wondered how he got so lucky.

Oswald finally pulled away, clearing his throat to break the moment. “But enough of that,” he said, tone light as he steered them away from heavier topics. “This looks amazing, Ed. I can’t believe you cooked everything by yourself.”

Ed cut through the slice of roast beef, happy with how easily it parted under his knife. “Cooking is just another science. And it is much more pleasurable cooking for two than it is cooking for one.” Ed tended to default to simpler meals when alone simply because it wasn’t practical to cook large amounts of food for only himself. Cooking for someone else, someone who he wanted to impress, was a very different experience that he hoped to repeat.

“I bet,” Oswald said, spearing a piece of meat with a fork and popping it into his mouth. The noise he made was almost obscene. “Oh god,” he said once he finished chewing. “This is delicious.”

Ed laughed, leaning his chin on his hands. “I’m glad you enjoy.”

The rest of the meal passed quickly. Ed managed to restrain himself to only two riddles, both of which Oswald answered correctly even though it had taken him almost a full minute to decipher the second one. It made him giddy that Oswald didn’t mind the riddles, took them as an endearing quirk instead of the typical annoyance.

By the time they were scraping the last remnants of cake off their plates, they were into their second bottle of wine—a 1985 Lagarde Malbec that paired excellently with the chocolate. They eventually migrated to the sofa, where Oswald had no qualms curling up against Ed who draped his arm around Oswald’s shoulders. Ed wondered if he should offer to put on a film or to play a game, but it felt nice to just cuddle and chat. They finished the second bottle in short order, both of them pleasantly buzzed. Oswald tended to get more physically affectionate when inebriated, Ed figured out, and he was peppering kisses along Ed’s neck.

“Should I open another bottle?” Ed murmured, enjoying the ticklish trail of Oswald's lips.

“No,” Oswald said, looking up at Ed from under his lashes. “I think we’ve had enough for the evening.” He gave a coy smile, swinging his leg until he was straddling Ed’s lap. Ed met him halfway, their lips eager.

Ed yielded to Oswald’s insistent mouth, enjoying the feeling of their tongues sliding together. Oswald’s lips and tongue were now familiar territory, and Ed loved taking advantage of his knowledge. He caught Oswald’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down with just the edge of _too much_ that Oswald liked if based on his gasp of pleasure. Ed pressed deeper into Oswald’s mouth, tasting red wine and a taste that was distinctly Oswald—a mix of nicotine and spearmint toothpaste.

Ed cupped Oswald’s ass in his hands, massaging it roughly as they kissed and pressing their clothed groins together. They rocked their hips against each other as they kissed, Oswald grinding down as Ed tried to press himself up, chasing the feeling. He could feel his arousal starting to press insistently against his zipper, and the friction coupled with the noises Oswald was making almost too much for him.

Oswald pulled away, hair mussed and lips red. “Take me to bed,” he said, standing and holding out his hand.

Ed took his hand readily, pulling his giggling partner after him and toward the bed. He pushed Oswald to take a seat before he stripped off his sweater quickly, already feeling the flush of heat running through him that was from more than just the temperature. He plucked his glasses off his face, tossing them almost carelessly onto the bedside table.

Oswald was matching his own impatience, already topless and fumbling at Ed’s belt by the time Ed was done. Ed made a noise, a cross between a moan and a growl when Oswald snaked his hand down into his briefs to wrap his hand around Ed.

Oswald squeezed, a devilish grin on his face, before pulling Ed out of his pants. He pumped it a few times, rubbing his thumb over the tip to smear pre-come over the head as he looked up at Ed, eyes wide and full of want. He bent down to lick the tip, never taking his eyes off of Ed.

Ed groaned, heart rate picking up as he watched Oswald wrap his lips over the head of his cock. He hollowed his cheeks, and Ed could practically see the mischief in his eyes when Ed couldn’t help but curse under his breath.

Oswald winked at Ed, and it was all the warning he got before Oswald swallowed him down, engulfing Ed into his warm, wet mouth. Oswald unraveled Ed’s self-control with his mouth, his tongue and lips twisting and twine along the hard length, eyes watering as he pressed himself to take him deep in his throat.

Ed loved how Oswald looked when he was like this--his eyes wide and pink mouth stretched around Ed. He wrapped one hand on the back of Oswald’s head, pulling at his hair. He knew Oswald enjoyed it rough, and Ed had no complaints. He tugged harder at the strands, knowing he had it right when Oswald tried to moan messily around the cock in his mouth, the sound muffled and all the more obscene for it.

Oswald pushed himself back, lips red and puffy, and Ed couldn’t stop himself from hauling him up into another kiss, tasting the lingering bit of salt on his tongue.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Ed said, his voice dropping to a growl. Oswald always brought out another side of him, the side that wanted to make him beg and plead, the side that wanted to _own_ him. Ed could already imagine Oswald on his back, legs spread open as he allowed Ed inside of him, could imagine the squeeze of his legs around his hips. Ed groaned at the very thought.

Oswald nodded. “Yes,” he said, breathless, lips parted slightly and giving Ed flash of his tongue.

Ed pulled his hair harder, straining Oswald’s neck and forcing him to bare his throat. “Ask me to fuck you,” he said, biting down on his shoulder and sucking at a spot until he left his mark, the deep purple of broken blood vessels. Ed palmed him through his jeans, pressing down with the heel of his hand, feeling Oswald's cock twitch in interest.

Oswald gasped and squirmed. “Fuck me, Ed. I want you to fuck me."

Ed smirked, pressing his hand down harder on Oswald’s clothed cock, hard enough that he knew it was borderlines painful. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners? I didn’t hear you even say please,” he said, biting down again to leave another mark.

Oswald whimpered, and the noise was like music to Ed. “Please fuck me, Ed,” Oswald begged, breathless. “Will you please fuck me?”

Ed kissed him as a reward. “That’s a good boy,” he said. He could see how Oswald’s pupils dilated at the words, could feel how his cock swell under his hand. “I want you to undress yourself, darling,” he said, stepping back to shuck off his own pants and to fish out the condoms and lubricant he had stashed in his bedside drawer. They had been getting more use these last few weeks than the last year combined.

By the time he looked back at Oswald, he had his face pressed against the comforter with his ass propped up and his knees spread wide, his hard cock hanging between his legs, the tip glistening with pre-come.

“You look so good like this,” Ed said, crawling onto the bed and biting Oswald on his left cheek to incite a whimper. “You are so beautiful and sexy,” he said, running his tongue up Oswald’s spine. He could feel his partner shaking under him in anticipation, his hands fisting the blanket as he tried not to stroke himself. Oswald was so good, so smart, and knew by now that only Ed could touch him. They both loved to play their games, loved knowing that Oswald was Ed's and Ed was Oswald's.

Ed squeezed a generous amount of lubricant over his fingers, spilling some onto the bed in his haste. He grabbed one side of Oswald’s ass and pulled, revealing the welcoming little furl of his entrance. Ed pressed his middle finger in to the second knuckle with little resistance, enjoying the sound of Oswald’s moan and how he tried to push back to take him deeper. Ed steadied him with one hand, keeping him from rocking back on hs fingers. “Nu-uh,” Ed said in a sing-song voice. “I’m in charge right now, and you’ll only take what I give you. Understand?”

Oswald nodded, the movement recognizable even with his head buried into a pillow.

Ed added a second finger as a reward, crooking his fingers to press gently against Oswald’s prostate. “One day,” Ed said, conversationally as though he wasn’t making a wreck of the man before him, “I’m going to make you come on my fingers alone. Would you like that?” Ed could see the white of his knuckles as he clutched the blanket, trying so hard to keep himself still for Ed.

Oswald nodded furiously again.

Ed could picture that, Oswald tied up on his hands and knees, immobile as Ed took his time, pressing his fingers into him and making him beg so prettily. He had to take a deep breath to keep himself from getting too excited at the thought before he added a third finger, thrusting his fingers in and out and enjoying the little sounds and tremors he could draw out. Once he had Oswald practically sobbing, his entire body begging for Ed, he withdrew, not able to wait any longer.

He slipped on the condom and covered his cock with the lubricant before he upturned the bottle to drizzle a thin stream directly onto Oswald’s hole, making the smaller man jolt at the temperature. He coated his entrance liberally, using his fingers to press the lubricant inside.

Satisfied, he pressed the head of his cock against Oswald’s entrance, teasing the clenching hole with the tip, giving Oswald just enough pressure before pulling back.

“Ed, please,” Oswald said, turning his face so he could see Ed. “Please, put it in me. I want it, I want your cock,” he begged. He looked so beautiful like this, pressed down into Ed’s bed and mouth open, wanton and desperate for Ed.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Ed said. He pressed in, groaning at the tight feeling of Oswald squeezing him. He worked himself in slowly, pressing in before retreating a fraction and repeating the pattern until he bottomed out, his pelvis resting against Oswald’s ass. He could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead, and it took everything to not just pound into the hot, beautiful tightness.

Oswald wiggled his ass impatiently, and Ed slapped a cheek in punishment, eliciting another moan.

Ed pulled out before driving back in with a hard thrust, the force of it shaking the bed and making Oswald almost scream. Ed drove in and out of Oswald, eyes trained on where they were connected, where Ed could see Oswald stretched to open and split on his cock. He punctuated every other thrust with a loud slap to one of Oswald’s ass cheeks, and Oswald gave a loud, keening noise each time.

Ed kept up the pace, loving the way Oswald’s pale skin pinked under his hand, the way Oswald would moan and whimper with every movement. Oswald had been reduced to nothing but a steady stream of please-please-please-ed-yes-yes, and it made Ed only harder knowing that Oswald was his _his **his**_.

Ed could feel a familiar pressure building and knew he was close, but he was determined to make Oswald come first. He grabbed Oswald by the hair, forcing him to arch his back in a way that looked painful but only made Oswald’s moan louder. He drove into Oswald, one hand fisted in his hair while the other reached around to raggedly jerk Oswald off.

Ed could feel the sweat on his body, the slide of it down his neck and back, and fuck, he wanted to come, but pride stopped him. Oswald was his, only his, and he wanted the man to come for him, to come while sitting on his cock.

Oswald came with a scream, loud and high-pitched, as he clenched even tighter around Ed as he rode out his orgasm, hips jerking shakily against Ed’s.

Ed released his grip on Oswald’s hair who dropped down into a boneless heap on the bed. Ed steadied himself with a hand on either side of Oswald’s waist and drove _in_. The loud slap of skin against skin was obscene, and Ed was only vaguely aware of Oswald’s tired little moans or the way he spread his legs wider in invitation. It only took another few thrusts before Ed emptied himself into the condom, coming with a loud growl.

It took him a few seconds before he realized he was probably crushing Oswald. Ed pulled out with a mutual groan, taking a moment to appreciate the way Oswald tried to clench around him as he retreated. He tied off the condom and tossed it to the side—he’d find it later—before he flopped onto his back next to Oswald.

Oswald still looked a little dazed. Ed admired the large marks he had left on his shoulder and then leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, coaxing a slow, gentle kiss out of the man.

Oswald sighed into the kiss. “Fuck, I missed that.”

Ed laughed but stopped when the movement made his muscles ache in protest. “I aim to please,” he murmured in return, nuzzling his neck and placing soft kisses over the hickies. He grabbed a clean hand towel from his dresser and carefully wiped away Oswald’s come from his stomach and the bedsheets, gentle around the oversensitive skin

Oswald gave him a dopey smile. “Well, you did please, so congratulations.”

Ed gave him another kiss, unable to stop the smile that would not leave his face. “Come on,” he said, lifting the blankets to urge Oswald under the covers. Ed switched off the lights, leaving Oswald’s face illuminated only in soft green neon.

Oswald tucked himself against Ed’s side, his head resting on his chest and his hand on his stomach. “Goodnight, Ed,” he said, voice already fading as he drifted off to sleep.

“Goodnight,” Ed said, looking down at the man curled against him. He wanted—he almost—the words were there on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. It was too soon; he didn’t even know what he was to Oswald. But every second he spent with Oswald made his heart glow, and he didn’t want to picture life without him anymore—didn’t want to return to his drab existence.

But the words wouldn’t come, stopped by the pit of fear in his stomach. Instead, he kissed Oswald on the forehead before closing his own eyes, drifting off to sleep, Oswald a warm and steady presence by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am balancing quite a few projects now, so thank you, everyone, for your patience as you wait for your dose of fluff and sexy times. I love writing our bois being soft. <3
> 
> As always, feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](https://chierei.tumblr.com) or come scream about Nygmobblepot with me at our [Discord](https://discord.gg/yXg9WMP).
> 
> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought in the comments! Every comment gives me the warm and fuzzies and feed my soul. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [step on up fan art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725490) by [coppercowries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppercowries/pseuds/coppercowries)




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